Hermione Granger, Salazar's Reincarnate
by epsi10n
Summary: They didn't question why Hermione Granger boarded the Hogwarts Express with a substantial repertoire of hexes under her hat, or why she was able to cast every spell on the first go. They never really noticed her resourcefulness, determination or cunning. Who would've thought that the Gryffindor who belonged in Ravenclaw, was once named Slytherin?
1. Chapter 1

_'What in the seven hells happened to self-preservation?'_ Salazar Slytherin asked himself, though his hands continued to move deftly over his cauldron without a pause.

This was the product of fifteen long years of research - conceived by ideas so genius that even Rowena would be jealous, and gestated in experimental trials so patient that even Helga would appreciate. And now, he was about to pull off a feat so reckless that even Godric might hesitate.

Salazar cast the final spells to seal the magic, and transferred the potion into a flask. He swirled it around gently, checking its colour and consistency. Admittedly, he had only a vague idea of what would happen, and there were no way he could control it once it started. If his theories and conjectures had been correct, his being would dissipate and dissolve into the ether, until it would pull itself back together and begin anew. There was no telling how long this would be, or who he would become. Not exactly a comforting thought, as control had always been very important to him.

But Salazar was also too determined to turn back, and too curious to pass up the opportunity. _Somebody _has to try something new, to further their civilization's understanding of magic. Besides, he's got nothing to lose. Not anymore.

_'Bottoms up', _he grinned, swallowing the potion in one long draught.

And he was gone.

It would be a millennium later when he woke again.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Hermione Jean Granger,<em>

_'Where am I? What's happened? And how is it that I suddenly remember another lifetime?'_

_Congratulations. You have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

Letter of acceptance. The Hogwarts seal. '_So that's what set it off…'_

"Hermione, dear, what's that strange letter you've got? It doesn't look like spam, does it?"

_'Show mother the letter. Use the opportunity to recollect memories and thoughts. Hermione Granger. Daughter of dentists Jean and Olivia Granger. Muggleborn. Live in London, 1991. Formerly Lord Salazar Slytherin. Hogwarts founder. Duellist, professor, inventor, potioneer. Reincarnation potion successful. Theory confirmed.' _"Mother? I… I know you won't believe this, but … it says I'm a witch!"

One glance at mother and father showed that they were still staring at the letter in shock. Their surprise was understandable, as the contents of the letter seemed to defy logic and all known laws of science. Science… It was miraculous that the people who once refused to learn, who once denounced everything beyond their tiny circle of understanding as witchcraft and therefore evil, could become so _enlightened_. Salazar had never thought such a wonderful development possible, or he wouldn't have so vehemently protested contact between muggle and wizarding communities. _'Renaissance… A beautiful word, no?'_

"Could…could this be a joke?" father stuttered.

"Maybe," _'definitely not', _"If this school is real, then they would send someone to confirm." It was what Salazar and the others used to do.

Mother and father looked at each other with raised eyebrows, muttered something about "cobwash", and went back to their daily routines. There were patients to see at the clinic, and they'd better hurry if they want to be on time for the first appointment.

Shrug nonchalantly, but pocket the letter. Treasure it. _'I never dreamt this could happen, not once after I'd left, but I'm going home again. I'm actually going back!'_

A small sigh. Try not to look too excited on the way upstairs. _'The world has changed, that much is certain. And what a world it is…'_


	2. Chapter 2

True to her words, they did send someone. Hermione stared in fascination as a woman wearing a plain black robe and a matching pointed hat fell out of the fireplace. _'Travel by fire… Must be some new invention. I'll ask her about it.' _

"My name is Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. And you too, Hermione." The lady smiled kindly at mother and father, who were still too stunned to shake her hand. For the usually gracious and well-mannered dentists_,_ Hermione thought, this was saying something.

_'Our school has a deputy headmistress now...' _"It's very good to meet you too, professor," Though rather lost in thought herself, Hermione stepped forward with her, and Salazar's, usual impeccable politeness. "If you don't mind me asking, professor, how did you get here?"

"Magic," Professor McGonagall replied.

_'Obviously,'_ Hermione thought. But since the answer _should _suffice for a child who'd never seen magic in her life, she merely looked at the deputy headmistress expectantly, hinting with her eyes that she should elaborate.

McGonagall caught the drift. "The magic I used to arrive at your fireplace is called the Floo network. It's how many wizards travel."

Hermione wondered if people still apparated, but she would have to find out on her own time.

Her parents finally came to their senses. "We've read the letter," her father said, sounding as if he didn't quite yet believe the words coming out of his own mouth. "How come - I mean, _how_ is all this possible? How could you be sure? Why our Hermione?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to give you a satisfactory answer, Mr. Granger," Professor McGonagall told him patiently, "though I will try my best. The magical and non-magical community have co-existed for centuries, with very little contact. Most likely you've never met any of our kind, or perhaps you have but didn't realize. Magic hides itself rather well."

Ah, the Statue of Secrecy. Salazar had a hand in that.

"Most wizards are born to wizarding families, though many, like Hermione, are from non-magical backgrounds as well. We know she's a witch because the ministry of magic and our school can recognize her signature. You've most likely already noticed strange things happening around her. Perhaps things flying, coincidences, or unexpectedly good luck?"

Her mother frowned. "Now that you mentioned it, there was that time her broken leg healed overnight... We thought the doctor misdiagnosed! Oh my God, Jean, I can't believe this is real!" Hermione thought back to her childhood. Surprisingly, she'd had far fewer episodes of accidental magic than most children. Perhaps it was because her magic had already been trained.

She wondered what the wizard community looked like today, nearly as much as she wondered about Hogwarts. Had it changed as much as the muggle one? "Professor, the letter said something about school supplies. Where can I buy a cauldron?"

"You would need to go to Diagon Alley for that, Miss Granger." And she spent about half an hour explaining how the magical marketplace worked, and how one could find it.

"We must go there the first thing in the morning!" mother said excitedly. Hermione calmly pointed out that the clinic wouldn't close until Sunday. Of course, she added, she was perfectly able to go alone if they were busy. There was a certain Gringott vault she'd wanted to see, after all. And a couple of bookstores, though _those_ she was sure her parents would have no objections to.

"Nonsense!" her father cried, "This is our daughter's proud moment! We'll go together on Sunday."

Hermione snorted. How could she forget that her father shared her incurable curiosity? No matter. She'll find a way. She always did.

The next day, after her parents had left for the clinic, Hermione hopped onto the Underground and headed for central London. The small pub named the Leaky Cauldron was easy enough to find, and she'd easily followed a tall man into the Alley. The magical community had changed very little. Certainly there were some small inventions here and there, and definite improvements to the broom, which Godric had been so keen on perfecting. Nevertheless, there were no great mind-bending changes that matched the ones in the muggle world. _'Have we grown stagnant, as a people?'_

The Gringott goblins were as annoying as she remembered them. They didn't spare her a single glance when she approached the tellers, and made a point to ignore her when she tried to get their attention. They visibly started when she announced what she'd wanted though.

A goblin peered down at her from behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "The box that Salazar Slytherin entrusted to us?"

"You heard right, Griphook. Oh look, I've learned your name. I've really been standing around for a rather long time, haven't I? "

"What gives you the right, girl?"

Of course, all this had been planned for. "I have the passcode," she told him simply.

Griphook looked dubious, though he brought out the small silver box nevertheless. Inspecting it, she could see that it was still intact, though there were signs of forced entry attempts. Most of them initiated by the tellers themselves, probably. She caught Griphook's gaze and smirked.

Like _hell _would Salazar allow him to open the box "entrusted to him". It was protected by some of the most powerful locking charms in existence.

She ran a slender finger over the engraved snake on the lid. "_Remember me?" _she whispered in parseltongue. The lid slid open, glowing green. She made sure to hold the box so that its content was fully visible to the teller, savouring the look of disappointment on his face. She knew it contained nothing of value to the goblins. Only Salazar's wand, and the key to the vault.

But the goblins must've spent a millennium trying to break it open, cherishing it and passing the puzzle of the box onto their children like some mysterious treasure. Now _that_ was funny. Nearly as funny as the horrid expression that replaced Griphook's disappointment when the significance of the action registered.

"You, you..." The goblin pointed a shaky finger at her and blurted. "You're... How...?"

Hermione smiled back, neither affirming or disputing what must be going through the clever little goblin's head. She took the wand and handed the key to Griphook, who slowly got up and showed her to the cart that looked just as likely to collapse as it did before. When they eventually arrived at the silver door of Salazar's vault, the goblin stepped back and gave her some privacy inside. A very sensible thing to do, especially since she had her wand back now.

Salazar had made sure to open a personal vault, separate from the family vault that any relatives or descendants of relatives could potentially enter should they somehow be made his heir. Hermione made a mental note to find out who that was, but it would be wisest not to touch that vault just yet. Besides, if cousin Marvolo's spending habits were anything to go on, she doubted there would be anything _left_ in the family vault after a millennium.

The goblins had been more than happy to open this vault for Salazar. They seemed to be under the very logical impression that if they waited long enough and tried hard enough after his death, they could eventually claim its riches for themselves.

Inside, she found Salazar's favourite bottomless bag, into which she placed a substantial amount of coins. She also took with her a small library of various kinds of books, many of them nearly impossible to find elsewhere and a dozen authored by Salazar himself. Then there was the small silver and emerald ring that Salazar always wore, though she wouldn't put it on just yet.

She glanced down at the bag. It looked rather conspicuous, out of place. A flick of her wand transformed its exterior into a small beaded purse. This would suit her better now.

Griphook bowed her out of Gringotts. Hermione took the rest of the day to carefully comb through Flourish and Blotts, picking up a number of history books and making sure to get at least three accounts of each major event for at least some semblance of objectivity. Not that it was possible, as everything she'd read about Salazar so far had been terribly misguided. True, he despised muggles and wizards who wouldn't accept magic and he'd been very vocal and politically active about maintaining distance between magical and muggle populations, but he'd never had an issue with accepting muggleborn students. He'd left the school he'd helped built only because his research had grown too dangerous to be conducted near students, and the disagreement with Godric had been about letting muggle parents visit their children, should they choose to attend at Hogwarts. Fortunately, it seemed that policy never got implemented.

She'd taken care to alter her appearance so that she could wander through the shops freely. She'd also found an adjacent street, Knocturn Alley, which turned out to be quite interesting. It was dirty and dingy and filled with all sorts of unmannerly people, rather like a slum compared to the High Road that was Diagon Alley. The expression on some of the men's shabby faces, upon seeing a seemingly defenceless young girl, was revolting. A cross between a toad and a jackal, or something of the sort.

Being the patient teacher that she was, that Salazar had always been, she'd painstaking hexed every single one of them until they learned better (which was quickly enough).

And Hermione arrived home at 4, just before her parents returned from the clinic. 'N_ow wasn't that a reasonably productive day?'_


	3. Chapter 3

The second trip to Diagon Alley was much slower, due to her parents' constant bickering over the map. Hermoine had to keep reminding her mother that, no, they cannot just ask the hotdog vendor where the Leaky Cauldron was.

Honestly, Hermione watched her parents with some worry, they looked like a family of lunatics. If they'd been grinning like this all day yesterday at the clinic, there wouldn't be any patients for them to return to.

They first stopped at Gringotts to exchange some muggle money for Galleons. The goblins looked like they'd been force fed lemons when they saw her, but they didn't say a word. Instead they averted eye contact and tried to pretend she wasn't there.

"Aren't they such polite little people?" Father walked away with this impression, "A bit shy, though."

Hermione shrugged.

The next stop was Ollivander's.

Obviously she couldn't say she already had a wand, and there was no harm in buying a second. The old wandmaker fixed her with an intense stare as she entered. "Would this be your first wand, young miss?"

"Oh yes. You see, we just found out our Hermione is a witch just yesterday. Funny, isn't it? We're all so excited, and magic is so amazing -"

"Calm down, mom, you're hyperventilating." Hermione interrupted her gently. Mother will get used to this, hopefully. She wondered what Ollivander noticed about her magic. Wandmakers often had a way of assessing their customers. The wands themselves seemed to do this, at least.

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "Curious... But never mind. Which is your wand arm, miss?"

After some time, Hermione walked her parents out of the shop with a handsomely made vinewood and dragon heartstrings wand. Shopping with her parents was quite a challenge. She had to drag them past the crowd of children gaping at the new Nimbus 2000, and it took just about all her Slytherin cunning to keep them from getting lost in the bookshop. And it had been so difficult to convince them that it was a bad idea to hang a moving picture on the living room wall, especially as they went as far as attempting to bribe her with a pet snake.

They'd left without the portrait. And little Sylvia would be better off living with another happy family anyways.

"Wand, check. Books, check. Cauldron, check... That just leaves your uniform, Hermoine dear."

The kindly lady, Madame Malkins, was busy with a boy her age when she stepped into the shop. Hermione politely stood on the stool beside him and waited.

"Hullo," the boy seemed friendly enough, "I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Hermione Granger," she replied, "it's very nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too, Hermi...er, sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Hermione."

"Harminini?"

_'Why does it always have to be this difficult?'_ "Hermione, as in The Winter's Tale?"

Blank stares.

"Shakespeare?" She tried again.

More blank stares.

"It's a muggle book. You must be pureblood, then, if you've never heard of Shakespeare... Look, if my name is too hard for you, then call me Sally. Or Sal. My old friends called my that." '_Specifically, when Godric decided that something as simple as Salazar was too much for his poor brain to handle...Oh, Godric would be laughing in his grave at this.'_

"Are you a muggleborn, Sally?" Neville asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Some wizards don't like muggleborns, but my Gran says it's nonsense."

So blood status was still as touchy an issue as ever, she gathered. Oh, and that Neville Longbottom was a very tactful diplomat.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too, Neville?"

The boy's eyes practically sparkled at that. "Oh yes! I can't wait till the sorting!"

"Any idea which house you want to be in? Not Slytherin, surely?" She had a feeling that Neville's loose tongue would cause him quite a bit of grief there.

"Of course not! Gran says it's for evil wizards! I... I want to go to Gryffindor. I hope I'm brave enough..."

Neville looked so nervous that Hermione completely ignored the unintentional personal insult, though she made a mental note to do something about House Slytherin's reputation. "I'm sure you can go to any house you want, Neville. They really care about your opinion, or at least, they should. Besides, the other houses are just as good. You'll do very well in Hufflepuff, for example. And really, Slytherin's not that bad. Or at least, it's not supposed to be..."

Neville nodded, brightening again. "Thanks, Sally... Wait! You're a muggleborn, right? How come you know more about Hogwarts than I do?"

"I did just spend a whole day in the bookstore," Hermione pointed out. "Flourish and Blotts, I think it's called. They have an interesting book called Hogwarts: a History."

"Oh."

She suddenly remembered. "I've been meaning to ask someone about this - I'm a muggleborn, so I really don't know... Have you heard anything about a boy named Harry Potter? They say he killed a certain evil wizard as a baby? A certain Lord Voldemort-"

"We don't say that name!" Neville whispered, suddenly fearful.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again," Hermione promised.

"On October 31, ten years ago, He-who-must-not-be-named attacked the Potters' family. He'd killed Harry's mum and dad, but he couldn't kill th baby."

"So what happened to You-know-who?" Hermione prompted.

"Gone," Neville swallowed, "vanished."

'Vanished' didn't have the same finality as 'dead', Hermione noted grimly, though it was good that this Voldemort hadn't been making trouble for the past ten years. She wondered what kind of magic could've protected the child. She would read more about it later. "And Harry would be around our age, right? This means there's a good chance we'll get to meet him at Hogwarts."

"You're right!" Neville realized, "Merlin, I haven't thought of that!"

"You're done, dear," Madame Malkins called, and Neville hopped off the stool clumsily with his new robes.

"I can't believe I made a friend already!" he beamed, "I was afraid for a while that no one would talk to me because I'm almost a squib...See you on the train, Sally!"

Hermione smiled back warmly. "See you on the train, Neville." The boy's "Gran" was putting him under too much pressure, she swear. _'Almost a squib my foot.' _Hogwarts wouldn't take squibs or anyone who didn't have enough magic to benefit from the education. They'd made sure of that.

As it was, she could only wish Neville the best of luck.

After enjoying ice cream at the cozy little ice cream palour next door and disguising her new cauldron as well as she could without using magic, Hermione and parents went home without much fanfare. The rest of the summer passed relatively normally, and she took this as a sign that her parents were adjusting to the whole magic business reasonably well. Soon enough, it was time to board the steam-and-magic-powered locomotive, the Hogwarts Express. The space between platform 9 and 10 appeared to be a solid wall, but clearly it was just an illusion. Turning back, she hugged her parents goodbye.

Her father signed fondly. "All those boarding schools that offered you scholarships must be so disappointed, especially Eton... Write to us, Hermione dearest."

"Of course," she smiled. The calm, sure way she'd passed through the barrier betrayed none of her excitement. She looked around her. The younger children on the platform were bouncing with anticipation of adventure, of going somewhere new. The older children were grinning at the thought of returning to the place wher they lived and grew for so many years. For her, it was both.

Hermione slid into an empty compartment and felt its aged leather seats. '_Well, then. Let the journey begin.'_


	4. Chapter 4

About five minutes into the trip, the compartment door slid open again to reveal a snobby looking blond boy, flanked by two larger "bodyguards" that looked like they'd walked straight out of the gorilla house at the zoo.

Hermione put down Hogwarts: a History, the book she was reading (and editing), and gave them a friendly smile. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."

The blond boy had been considering whether to come in, but upon hearing her last name he gave a disdainful sniff and walked on. The two gorillas trailed after him obediently.

Hermione could understand his reaction. Clearly "Granger" was not a pureblood name, and the boy had been taught not to associate with anyone outside his family circle. Salazar had always found this kind of attitude slightly worrying, though he never gave the subject much thought. Wouldn't they end up with a dangerously inbred bloodline if everyone only talked to their cousins? And how would they know where a cousin's allegiance lies, should a conflict break out between two "purebloods"?

Or perhaps Salazar was alone in his concerns. Marvolo and his sisters hadn't been the most pleasant company.

Hermione returned her attention to her book, but was interrupted when her compartment door opened again. This time, she was joined by two friendly, though excessively giggly, girls her year. They introduced themselves as Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you," Hermoine told them, before noticing the small frown on their foreheads. "Er, call me Sally. I find it far more preferable to 'her-my-knee' or 'her-mi-own', or some other variations thereupon."

The girls nodded, relieved.

"Did you know each other from before?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Nope," Lavender giggled, "we met on the platform."

"And speaking of meeting people," Pavarti leaned in as if to share some great secret, "Do you know who's on this train with us?"

"Surely, not Harry Potter?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed, knowing exactly what they were going to say. "I heard rumours, but..."

"But YES!" Lavender and Pavarti squealed, "We saw him several compartments left of yours. He has messy black curls, green eyes -"

"Stunning green eyes," Lavender added.

"Oh yes," Pavarti agreed, "He's much cuter than the redhead sitting beside him -"

"Hey! The redhead's not _that _bad..."

"Did you go and say hello?" Hermione asked, amused.

"Of course not!" Lavender blushed, "We're too shy..."

_'Ha! As if!'_ "Aww, that's a pity!"

The girls sulked, nodding melodramatically.

"Are you excited to go to Hogwarts? I've read," Hermione patted her book, "so much about it!"

"Oh of course! I can't wait to do magic!" Lavender took out her wand and twirled it proudly, inadvertently causing sparks to fly out and scorch the upholstery. "Oops,"

"But aren't you nervous?" Pavarti demanded, "They say we're going to be _sorted! _How do you reckon they're going to do that?"

"You put on an ugly old hat that looks into your head and asks you what you want," Hermione said calmly, " What? Did you think we'd need to wrestle a troll or something?" Funny enough, Godric had actually proposed the exact task as his house's "entrance exam". The other founders had firmly put their foot down, citing various reasons such as noise, smell, damage to the local ecology, and general damage to the school's reputation.

"Oh good, because a third year five compartments down is telling these horrible stories -"

"Sally!" Neville burst through the door, looking very much relieved to see her. There were tears in his eyes, Hermione noticed. "Have you seen my toad? I can't find him anywhere!"

Lavender, on the other hand, looked very much annoyed to be interrupted. "No," she answered shortly.

"I'll help you look, Neville. See you at the sorting," Hermione stood and slipped out of the compartment. "What's the toad's name?"

"Trevor."

Hermione discreetly turned her back to him. A simple summoning spell should do it. Though on second thought, this would be a good opportunity to meet everyone on the train. "C'mon, let's go. Has anyone seen a toad around here? Neville's lost one..."

Hermione noticed that apart from the first years, students tend to sit with their housemates. Two compartments, both unfortunately were distinctively Slytherin, shut the door in their faces. Everyone else, Slytherins included, politely said that they hadn't seen anything. Eventually, they arrived at the compartment containing a black haired boy and a taller redhead boy, as well as the blond and the gorillas from before. They seemed to be in some sort of argument that escalated and ultimately resulted in the blond angrily stalking away, nursing his fingers.

"Have you been fighting?" Hermione asked.

"Scabbler's been fighting, not me," the redhead pointed out defensively. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose.

Hermione eyed his balled fists dubiously. '_I think what you meant is that Scabbler bit him before you could take a whack at him,' _She shook her head with disapproval. _"_Have you seen a toad anywhere? Neville's lost one."

"No, sorry," the boy replied, though his look suggested that if he had a toad, he wouldn't hesitate to lose it at first chance.

"Perhaps he'll turn up," his black- haired friend said comfortingly.

"I'm Hermione Granger by the way. But I also go by Sally. It's easier."

"Ron Weasly."

"Harry Potter."

The- boy-who-lived. He acted quite modestly for a celebrity, Hermione thought. "I've read about you, Harry. You're in the Book of Modern Magical History and the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. You should look yourself up. I know I would." _'And I did. To find out just what kind of bullcrap the world's been saying about me.'_

She glanced out the window. Already, she could see the familiar rolling hills, the edge of the black lake. They were almost there.

Leaving the boys' compartment to let them change into their uniforms (she had already put on her own before the train had left the station), she idly wondered what house the boys would be sorted into. Ron looked like someone who might go to Gryffindor. Harry, she wasn't sure. But since he'd had an unpleasant experience with the blond, who unfortunately would most likely end up in Slytherin, Harry would most likely go to Gryffindor as well.

They'd never asked her which house she thought she belonged in. Had they asked, her answer would be "I'm not sure." On the one hand, House Slytherin really needed to shape up. It was disappointing to see Salazar's legacy crumble into a house of crooks and villains. The best way to reform it was from within the house itself.

On the other hand, did she really want to commit her whole life as Hermoine to this cause? It would be very Gryffindor to battle for one's honour, but it might brand her as an outcast forever. It would close off so many opportunities, so many chances to achieve greatness. She'd lived a lifetime as a recluse. Perhaps this time she would try something different, just for the sake of it.

"First years o'er here!" A booming voice shouted. Hermione followed Harry, Neville and the other first years off the train, where they eventually boarded a fleet of little boats. Someone finally saw Neville's toad, and before long they were all happily sailing toward the majestic castle that was Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall greeted them outside the great hall.

"The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will become something like family to you."

Hermione felt the magic of the castle, the layers of wards protecting those within. Most of them had been invented by Rowena, arranged by Salazar, checked by Helga and constructed by all four friends together. _'Oh how I've missed you...'_

"The four houses are called Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards."

Any moment now. Like the other first years, Hermione's breath caught in her throat as four ghosts floated into the hall. A fat friar, a clownish knight, one of Salazar's former students who she remembered well, and... Rowena's daughter?

'_I'm alive, and they're all dead...' _For one, brief second, she wondered whether Salazar should've given the reincarnation potion to his friends as well. But she quickly realized that it was a ridiculous idea. They had all been living long fruitful lives, with their families and friends. They were content. Why take them away from all that they'd worked hard to earn, and drop them into the unknown again? It would be a curse, not a blessing for them. Only Salazar would call it an opportunity.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

She watched with pride as her fellow students gaped at the high ceiling. To see it as it always had been, after a thousand years... "It's enchanted to look like the night sky," she told them, barely keeping the smugness out of her voice. "I read it in Hogwarts: a History, of course."

"Granger, Hermoine!"

Step forward with composure. Put on the hat. Hide what must be hidden, and prepare to think.

_'What have we here? A smart young lady. I see your thirst for knowledge. Definite Ravenclaw material, then?'_

_'Very diligent too. You'll find others like you in Hufflepuff, of course.'_

_'Yes, highly intelligent. But I wonder if you're more than that? What are you willing to do to achieve your goals, hmm?'_

The hat sounded exactly like Salazar when it said that last bit.

She made up her mind. _'Place me in Gryffindor.'_

_'Gryffindor? What a very Slytherin thing to do, from your perspective. Pity. I thought Slytherin would finally get someone worthy.'_

_'Perhaps it might help if you explain what being Slytherin really means at next year's sorting.'_ Hermione suggested, 'I_ know you know, and I know you can. Think about it for a while.'_

_'I've tried before, and I will try again, though it will not be enough. Much needs to be changed outside the castle walls as well. This time it'll count for something, you say? You're an interesting one, Hermione - or do you prefer Sally? Promise you won't let them burn me for blasphemy?'_

_'Very well. I wish you all the luck. Welcome to GRYFFINDOR!'_


	5. Chapter 5

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione placed the Sorting Hat on the stool and strolled toward the red and gold table, smiling gratefully for her new housemate's applause. She took a seat beside a older, officious-looking boy who bore some resemblance to Ron from the train. He wore a very well-polished silver prefect badge.

"Hermione Granger," she offered him her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The boy shook it, pleased by the respectful tone of her greeting. "It's very good to meet you too, Hermione. My name is Percy Weasley. You're welcome to come to me if you ever need help here at Hogwarts."

"Thank you for the offer, Percy. Being prefect must be tiring, with all that responsibility."

This got Percy talking. "It certainly is," he puffed out his chest and straightened his prefect badge, causing two redhead twins further down the table to snigger. "Already I've had to deal with three cases of trouble-making. It's a big job, but someone has to do it. This year, I intend to put a stop to all pranks, bullying and breaking of school rules."

"That's a very ambitious goal," Hermione complimented, noticing how the twins and their friend looked as if Percy had announced that he would like to repeal the laws of magic. "Are there one or two primary perpetrators, or is it more of a general problem?"

"There are," Percy glared down the table, "one or two," The redhead twins, who Hermoine could now safely assume to be Weasleys as well, only laughed harder. Percy huffed, but encouraged by the way Hermione seemed to be drinking in his every word, continued on. "Much of the trouble result from the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, however. Many of us feel strongly about dark wizards, and House Slytherin has produced more dark wizards than any others."

Hermione repressed a frown. Dark magic wasn't necessarily evil. It was simply more dangerous than others, and should therefore be used and taught with caution. "Have you found the Slytherin students to be especially violent?"

Percy considered this. "Not exactly. I'm afraid the majority of serious confrontations have been initiated by our own house. But my point is, it's the general attitude that's the problem. And some of the prominent Slytherin families have taken to taunting muggleborn students."

"I understand. I'm muggleborn myself."

Percy nodded toward the other side of the Great Hall, at the Slytherin table, to where the blond boy she'd met on the train was sitting. "You'll want to watch out for that boy, then, sitting beside the Bloody Baron. His name is Draco Malfoy, and his family is well-known for blood purism. His father's been a known Death Eater - er, supporter of You-know-who, but somehow he still managed to maintain powerful political connections. He claimed to be under the imperious curse, the spell that controls minds, after You-know-who's fall."

"What does he do now?" Hermione asked.

"He's a senator, as well as a member of Hogwarts' governing council."

Neville Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor, as he had wanted. He'd been so proud and excited that he'd ran off with the hat still on his head, before doubling back amid bursts of applause and laughter. Hermoine flashed him a warm smile when he joined their table.

"Sally! We're in the same house!" He grinned from ear to ear, "I'm so glad I made it!"

Percy was confused. "Sally?"

"You're the first person to pronounce my name, beside my parents and some of the teachers. Everyone else call me Sally instead, ever since preschool."

Percy looked sympathetic. "Though I must admit, your name is rather unusual. Shakespeare, right?"

"A Winter's Tale. Do you enjoy reading, Percy?"

"Certainly," Percy smiled proudly, "though I'm afraid I don't know too many of Shakespeare's stories."

"Ah, but I'm surprised you know of him at all! Your brother Ron said your family is purely magical."

Percy laughed. "True, but my father is fascinated by muggles. He's the head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts."

"A ministry official!" Hermione gasped admiringly, egging him on. She wondered what the magical government was like. They didn't have one in Salazar's days. "You must be really familiar with the Ministry of Magic, then. What's it like?"

"Well, there's the Minister, Cornelius Fudge. We've had him over for dinner once or twice. And then there are the department heads..." Hermione made her interest known as Percy gave a very nice overview of the power structure of the Ministry. She could tell that Percy was dying to work there, and likely even fantasized about becoming minister himself.

Had it not been the unfavourable perception of House Slytherin, Hermione thought, Percy would've very likely went there. But then again, Salazar's house had been intended to provide resources for people who could and wanted to get things done, not necessarily for those who desired power. _'Perhaps that's where the meaning of ambition got lost?'_

They stopped their conversation to watch the sorting of Harry Potter, who joined Gryffindor as she expected. He sat down beside a sandy-haired boy named Dean Thomas, and was soon joined by Ron Weasley. Percy cheered for his younger brother with pride.

Hermione turned her attention to the rest of her house. Neville was telling the boy beside him how he'd been dropped out of a window and performed his first accidental magic at the age of six. Ron and Harry were talking animatedly with one of the Weasley twins - Fred? Or George? Beside her, the comical ghost was trying to introduce himself as the noble Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Propington -

"My brother told me! You're Nearly Headless Nick!" A first year shouted.

Sir Nick looked affronted. "I would prefer to be known as Sir Nicholas -"

"Nearly headless?" Hermione joined in. The knight looked too funny when he got annoyed. "How can you be nearly headless?"

"Like this," Nick sighed, and tugged his partially severed head off his neck by a ear. After a few seconds, he straightened up and coughed. "Now, any other _questions_?"

As customary, the professors were seated at the head table, which had been expanded over time to seat thirteen instead of four. Professor McGonagall sat near the middle beside a man with a long silver beard, who Hermoine assumed was the headmaster. His eyes had an intriguing, knowing sort of twinkle. The loafing giant who'd guided them off the train - correction: half giant - sat at the end of the table. On the other side of the headmaster, there was a black-haired professor with a very sour expression, as if he was chronically displeased. Beside him, there was a jittery-looking professor who was always adjusting his purple turban. An interesting bunch, they were.

Finally, the last of the first years had been sorted. After the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, stood and said a few words ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"), the tables were covered with plates of food. Hermione reached happily for the familiar steak-and-kidney pie, a longtime favourite, while trying to ignore the snorting sound emitted by a certain redhead during his attempt to shovel as much food into his mouth as possible. She noticed Sir Nick looking on enviously, so she deliberately savoured every single bite to his chagrin.

Dinner was followed by the singing of the school song (written by Godric in a fit of firewhiskey-induced inspiration) and Professor Dumbledore's actual welcome speech. This consisted mainly of a list of school rules and the announcement that a certain third floor hallway was now off-limits. There was also the curfew, which had really been designed to be broken. It practically ensured students time and privacy to work on side projects, should they be determined to do so.

Percy, as prefect, led the first years to their dormitories. Hermoine took a bed near lavender and Pavarti, drew her curtains and waited. After some time, the hand of her watch struck 12. Hermione opened her curtains slightly. Coast clear.

Picking up her bottomless bag, she cast a disillusionment spell over herself and spelt her curtains shut. She then proceeded to stroll silently out of the Gryffindor portrait hole, and made for the second floor.

There was someone she had to see.

She was more than a bit annoyed when she realized that Salalar's favourite laboratory had been converted into a freaking bathroom. _'Just because I'd built a plumbing system here doesn't mean they should be lazy and reappropriate it...'_ But she thanked her fortune when it turned out to be a girl's bathroom. This would half the likelihood of her getting caught.

"_Open_," she hissed softly, and the petal-like array of washbasins shuffled apart to reveal the hidden tunnel. She floated down it with easy grace, landing near a large pile of shed snakeskin. '_Esmeralda must've grown really big by now_,' She thought, walking on.

At last she reached the foyer, where the imposing stony figure of Uncle Malory glared down with a stern expression. Salazar had put him there so that a particular childhood memory, the one that inspired the passcode, would be forever immortalized.

'_Marvolo is a strumpet,' _she told the tall stone face in all seriousness.

The statue seethed angrily and stomped, revealing a narrow door. Hermoine smirked. That one never got old. "Thank you, uncle dear!"

"_Salazar? Is that you?_"

"_Yes, Esmeralda. I'm back."_

Old friend nodded with some melancholy. "_You smell a bit different, but you act the same."_

"_True_," Hermione agreed, "_that tends to happen to you when you're reborn. How have the last millennium been for you, Esmeralda?"_

"_One thousand years... No wonder it felt so long. The smaller snakes come, but they are afraid of me."_

Hermione felt a twang of pity for her friend. She must've been lonely.

"_Then one day I heard someone speak outside. 'Talk to me, greatest of the Hogwarts four', he said. I knew it wasn't you, but it's been so long since I heard someone speak in our tongue that I had to go out and see him."_

'_My supposed heir?' "Did he give the passcode?"_

"_No_," Esmeralda was amused, "_he seemed to think that statue outside is you, actually."_

Hermione facepalmed. "_To be mistaken for that old monkey... But why would I make a door out of my own mouth? Did he think I have no self respect?"_

Esmeralda flicked her tail noncommittally, then grew sad. "_He tricked me, Sal. He told me the castle has been infiltrated, and no one was doing anything about it."_

"_Infiltrated by whom?"_

_"I didn't think to ask. I had been too angry... I followed him to the surface at once, my eyes wide open, and then..."_

"_And then?"_ Hermione asked gently, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

"_A student saw me, Sal. And she died. There were no infiltrators, I later realized."_

'_Stay calm. Take three breaths. Don't blow anything up. Don't blow anything up...' "The boy... Did he give you his name?"_

Esmeralda shook her head. "_No, and I never saw him again after that."_

_'Deep breaths. Deeeep breaths...' "And how long ago was this?"_

_"Not too long."_

Not too long for Esmeralda would be around fifty years, then. Hermione would look for him in the school's records. _"He can look forward to hell." 'No one gets away with turning the school's protection, MY friend, against the students. And no one's allowed to murder under my name. Only I get to do that.' "What's done is done, Esmeralda. I don't blame you."_

She nodded.

"_But in the future, let's stay calm, and let's not trust anyone until they've insulted Marv some way or another."_

Esmeralda opened her jaws is something akin to a laugh._ "Of course. And welcome back to Hogwarts, Sal."_


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N. I split the original Ch 6 into 2 parts, so that I could expand the story a bit more.**

* * *

><p><em>"Good morrow, Salazar!" The group of muggle boys called. They were Salazar's age, more or less. Because of this, they seemed to think they were his friends.<em>

_"Good morning, Nathan, Michael, Samuel," Salazar replied, book in hand. He didn't like them one bit, with their crudeness and uncivil behaviour. Still, as they were his family's tenants, he forced himself to be welcoming and gracious and agreeable. He listened with feigned interest as they described how they'd successfully evaded punishment when they were caught urinating at a farmer's dog. _

_"Wasn't that some adventure we had!" Samuel, the largest of the boys, finished gleefully._

_"Congratulation on your escape," Salazar said, eyebrow raised with an otherwise blank expression, "but I trust you do not need me to tell you that such a habit would be unhealthy. If you value your manhood at all, that is."_

_"Pish posh!" Nathan waved, "we're much too fast for that stupid dog."_

_Salazar saw no reason why Nathan should call a dog stupid. After all, the boy himself was not much better. _

_"Did you know?" Michael leaned in conspiracally, "They're raising the stake down at the village again!"_

_"Oh? Who are they burning this time?"_

_"Some woman," Michael shrugged, "I saw her locked in a cage when I was down there. She didn't look scared, though. Witches are strange."_

_Salazar nodded. It sounded like the woman could take care of herself, then. _

_"Oh her!" Nathan joined in, "They caught her last night. My brother's friend went to help."_

_Salazar hid his disgust at the pride in Nathan's voice. He reminded himself that they were only muggles, that they didn't and couldn't know better. "Did he now?"_

_"Oh yes! He said he helped them pin her arms down while they were pushing her into the cage!"_

_"That sounds so exciting!" Samuel said enviously, "I'm so gonna join a witch hunt, one day. And believe me, I've tried, but they won't let me. They say I'm not old enough." _

_"They speak sense," Salazar pointed out reasonably, "You are only eleven. You would be no match." Too true. Salazar could kill him with a wave of his wand if he wanted to, and Samuel wouldn't even know what hit him. And Salazar was only ten._

_Samuel spat. "As if! They just want to have all the fun themselves... Say, if they don't let us join them, why don't we start our own?"_

_"How did I not think of that?" Nathan grinned excitedly, rubbing his palms, "So, where do we start? Who looks like they might be a witch?"_

_"Not anyone that I know of," Salazar lied in the same perfectly unconcerned voice as before. _

_"We'll start down at the village, then. We'll march around the village, in the name of Lord Salazar -"_

_"Don't kill people in my name, Samuel," Salazar cut him off, for the first time serious, "Only I get to do that."_

_"As you wish, Lord Slytherin."_

_..._

_"Ah, Salazar! How good it is to see you!" Marvolo spread his arms wide, rattling the cumbersome gold chains that he saw fit to wrap around his person. Beside him, Merope and Melinda gave a high-pitched giggle. They were covering their mouths with silk fans in a horrible attempt to appear feminine. _

_"I am delighted to see you too, dear cousins," Salazar smiled politely, book in hand. He offered his other arm to Merope, as per customs, which she accepted gladly. Marvolo followed with Melinda. "You look dazzling today, my lady. Your dress - it must've cost..."_

_"Fifty Galleons," she told him proudly, "I'm glad you like it, Sal. Isn't the gold lace simply gorgeous?"_

_"Of course, such richness is only befitting of a lady of your status, and your-" Salazar coughed discreetly into his other hand. In fanning herself, Merope was causing her heavy perfume and powder to waft toward him in the most unpleasant way. "- beauty. Excuse me, my lady."_

_"You're forgiven, Sal," Merope fawned, "Now show us around your father's beautiful rose garden like you promised!"_

_"Of course, dear cousins." Salazar replied smoothly, setting his book down on a table. It looked like there was no getting away from these idiots today._

_..._

_"Sal! Have you got your nose stuck in a book again?" Godric waved, coaxing his spirited horse into the stable with his other hand. His boots were dripping with mud from the fields. Salazar had met him by chance while riding out to inspect his family's estate some time ago. Godric had been travelling through and, upon realizing each other's magic, they'd quickly became friends and exchanged promises of future visits._

_"For a knight, Sir Godric," Salazar sighed, "you should really have more respect for literature. This book is called 'The Prince', by Niccolo Machiavelli, and contains some interesting ideas. Not many copies of it exist - Machiavelli had presented the original to a muggle king as a gift, but not before secretly using magic to make a dozen duplicates for his friends... Not that I agree with everything he says though. The part about circumvent and impetuous people -"_

_"Bor-ing!" Godric yawned dramatically, "I read, but there's a distinction between reading for necessity and reading for enjoyment. I don't know how you do it."_

_"Books are useful. If I hadn't learned about the possibility of an obliviation charm and taught it to my village - in disguise of course - the muggles would still be marching around on witchhunts every month."_

_"I still say exercise and training is more useful, though," said Godric, "I challenge you. My combat experience against your books."_

_Salazar's eyes lit up at the prospect of a duel. "You're on, Godric! But if you lose, I'm calling you a muggle for a week!"_

_"And if you lose," Godric smirked wickedly, "I'm calling you Sally for a week!"_

_They bowed. At age sixteen, both boys were quite advanced in their spellwork. Multicoloured light flashed around them as they skillfully dodged each other's attacks while sending back a continuous stream of hexes in return. "Expelliamus!" Salazar smirked victoriously as Godric's wand flew off to the side. However, he'd forgotten about an invisible tripping charm Godric had cast earlier. His own wand rolled away from him as he tried to keep his face out of the mud. He quickly cast a wandless summoning spell, but Godric was already advancing on him with his sword._

_"I win - " Godric grinned, but dropped the sword before he could point it at Salazar's neck. "- OUCH!" A small snake had sunk its teeth into his calf, and was now slithering away into the grass. _

_"Thank you friend!" Salazar called in parseltongue. "Relax, Godric, he's not poisonous." _

_"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, Sally!" Godric complained, hopping on one leg while clutching the other._

_"You didn't win," Salazar pointed out, "you dropped the sword, remember?"_

_"But you cheated! The snake disarmed me, not you!"_

_"Ah! Ah! But I didn't lose either," Salazar wagged a finger, "so our agreement is null. Therefore you will still address me as Salazar."_

_"Why you tricky little -" Godric searched for the best word._

_"Slytherin?" Salazar supplied helpfully._

_"Yes!"_

_"Why thank you for the compliment!" Salazar grinned, handing Godric back his wand. "We'd better clean up before we go inside. My mother would be horrified..."_

_..._

_"I'm leaving, Godric, Rowena, Helga," Salazar told his only true friends, "I've already organized all the course notes for Potions, as well as Understanding the Dark Arts. You'll have no trouble at all next year."_

_"But Sal!" Helga cried, "Whatever for?"_

_"Is it about the muggleborn policy?" Godric asked, "Because you know that's still negotiable -"_

_"No! We've all made good points, and everything's perfect as it is. The students live yearlong at the castle, and go home during the summer so that they can still bond with their parents. As long as we're encouraging them to immerse themselves in our society, everything will be fine... But that's beside the point."_

_"Then why, Sal?" _

_"Look, I'm not upset or unhappy or anything," Salazar sighed, "It's where my research is taking me. Did you know my laboratory nearly exploded the other day?"_

_"I thought it was an earthquake..." Rowena muttered. _

_"Exactly! This can't keep happening, or soon the integrity of the castle will be at risk! And the spells I'm working on are getting more dangerous by the day. It's not good for the wards."_

_"Oh dear!" Helga looked at him with worry, "I hope you didn't get hurt!"_

_"No, I could protect myself... But my point is, I've got to move out. I can't risk an accident around the students."_

_"But why insist on studying the dark arts?" Rowena asked, "Honestly, you're more stubborn than Godric sometimes."_

_Salazar shrugged. "Uncharted territories, Rowena. I think you can understand that better than anyone. We've got to keep learning, or society stales."_

_Witty as she was, Rowena could not think of anything to counter that._

_"When we founded this school," Salazar continued, "My goal has been to fill a need, to make a significant improvement to the world. We've achieved that goal. The most difficult stages have passed, and Hogwarts has been running smoothly for twenty years. Not much can go wrong anymore, not with the three of you here. I feel that my efforts can accomplish more for the wizarding society if it is spent elsewhere."_

_No one spoke for a moment._

_"Have you told the students yet?" Rowena asked._

_"Not yet. I'll inform them tomorrow. As my friends, you ought to know first."_

_They nodded solemnly. _

_"We'll miss you, Sal," Godric said._

_"I'll miss you too," Salazar smiled, sincerely. But he had grown up alone. He could stand to be alone for a little longer._

_..._

Hermione woke to the sound of her housemates bustling about their morning routines. Blinking away the last of her long dream, she quickly got dressed and joined them on their walk to the Great Hall for breakfast, book in hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.: I split chapter 6 into two parts so that I could expand both**

* * *

><p>"Already studying, Sally?" Lavender leaned over to peek, "If you're so hardworking, you should be in Hufflepuff."<p>

"The hat did consider that," Hermione told her, before rising to make for her next class. Transfiguration. She was familiar with all the trick steps and moving staircases, so she could afford to walk at a relatively leisurely pace unlike her fellow first years. In an empty second floor corridor, though -

"Ohh, a ickle firstie! What fun!"

Peeves, she thought. Hogwarts's resident poltergeist had been busy levitating a suit of armour. Upon seeing her, he'd pulled off the helmet in preparation to chuck it at her, cackling madly. His laughter turned to muffled screams, however, when the armour and helmet locked around him, trapping the ghost inside. It fell back into place, immobilized.

"Can't resist!" Hermione called over her shoulder, smirking, "The _irony's_ too great." The spell wouldn't bind Peeves forever, she knew, but she suspected it would take him at least two weeks to free himself.

The arrival of the poltergeist was rather funny, actually. When Peeves first turned up in the Great Hall, Godric had invited him to stay despite his more sensible friends' protests, saying, "The students need some excitement in their lives, Sally!" He'd quickly realized his mistake when Peeves proceeded to empty a jug of pumpkin juice over his head and shoved him face-first into the pudding.

"I told you so," Salazar had hissed through gritted teeth over Peeves' maniacal screeching, "and for the last time, my name is Salazar!"

But of course, once a poltergeist had been invited into an establishment, it would not leave. Only Salazar could do anything to him. This, unfortunately, turned out to be quite annoying as well. Everyday, it was, "Sal! Peeves is destroying the charms classroom!" "Sal, could you get Peeves to stop banging on the armours?" "Sally! Help! Peeves is butchering my brooms!" Peeves had learned to fear Salazar, who had a large selection of painful curses ready for him whenever he'd fled a little too slowly. But days later, Peeves would be wrecking havoc again, and Salazar would be bombarded with a slew of Peeves-related complaints.

Eventually, Salazar and Peeves had reached an unofficial agreement. Salazar would tolerate the name calling, the taunts, the disruption of classes, the defacing of property... As long as Peeves steered clear of Salazar's personal quarters and laboratories and observed certain boundaries, Peeves was safe.

"Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magic you'll learn at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall warned. She had them start off small, by practicing turning a match into a needle. This was quite literally child play for Hermione, but having watched first year students struggle with the task for many years, she gauged her performance so that it just exceeded the expectation.

Understanding the Dark Arts, now called Defence against the Dark Arts, was disappointing. Professor Quirrell's class consisted entirely of reading from the textbook and listening to numerous personal anecdotes that no one believed. She supposed there would still be time to learn spells and counterhexes starting second year, but she was still tempted to shove Salazar's course notes under Quirrell's nose and order him to teach from that instead.

"T...this turban was g...given to me by an African p...prince for warding off a troublesome Z-zombie..."

_'Honestly, he's not even trying,' _Hermione thought, suppressing a frown. Something wasn't right here. From what Quirrell's told them about himself, he should've been a reasonably bright pupil. If not, he would've made an effort to at least appear less incompetent. Instead, he unabashedly displayed horror at his own adventures and made mistakes when reading from the textbook.

It seemed to Hermione as if he was trying to build a false image, but over exaggerated his acting.

Hermione knew herself to suspect people too easily. There could be a number of other explanations for Quirrell's behaviour, after all. However, if her guess was correct, then her defence professor would be a relatively experienced practitioner of the dark arts, and would also possibly have some ulterior motives in mind.

The history professor was a ghost. Hermione watched the class slowly drift off to sleep as Professor Binn droned on about a wizard named Ulric the Oddball. Hermione wasn't particularly interested in Ulric's various habits and choice of attire, and would've fallen asleep as well had she any less self-discipline.

After History, Hermione took a short detour to the dungeon antechamber.

The portrait of a certain former potion master hung on the stone wall. Said wizard was holding a book in one hand and touching his black goatee with the other. A small emerald and silver ring adorned the index finger of his left hand.

_"Hello, Salazar,"_

Portrait Salazar regarded her with interest. "_Ah! A parselmouth, who's somehow tricked the Sorting hat into placing her in Gryffindor! What is your name, child?"_

"_My name is Hermione now, but I also go by Sally or Sal," _Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear, making sure that portrait Sal got a good look at the emerald ring on her own finger. She could see her past self thinking fast. "_Remember that ridiculous conjecture you had, just before you left Hogwarts?"_

Grey eyes widened. _"It ...worked?!"_

"_Apparently so. But let's talk somewhere else. Mortal dread,"_ Hermione smiled, stepping into the secret passage that led to the entrance of the Great Hall. She then climbed a flight of stairs and made her way to the "Chamber of Secrets", as the rest of the school had taken to calling it, to find portrait Salazar, portrait Godric, portrait Rowena and portrait Helga in the midst of a loud argument.

"Sal, are you feeling ill?" portrait Helga tugged at portrait Salazar's sleeve, "You're acting so strangely today..."

"Yeah Sally," said portrait Godric, "First you run into our portraits, screaming, "I'm back! I'm back!", and then you drag us off without any explanation! What was that all about?"

"Where are we, Sal?" Asked portrait Rowena.

"My room," said portrait Salazar, "listen -"

"Ohh so this is Salazar's secret chamber that we could never find! I knew he didn't sleep in his office!"

"Really? Then why did he have that lounge chair thing -"

"Now is not the time to discuss my office!" Portrait Salazar yelled over them, "I brought you here because -"

"Merlin's beard! Is that a basilisk?!"

"Yes," Hermione said helpfully.

"And you berated me for wanting a dragon?" Godric sulked.

"You can't be sure the dragon won't burn you to crisps," portrait Salazar pointed out, "Esmeralda is my friend. She's intelligent."

"But if I had more time, I could've trained it to behave!"

Hermione arched her brows with amusement. "What, by tickling it? Perhaps someone might eventually be able to train a dragon, Godric, but certainly not you. It requires much more common sense than you possess."

Portrait Godric, Helga and Rowena finally noticed her. They gaped.

"Salazar Slytherin! Why in Merlin's name is there a girl in your bedroom?!"

Hermione felt like hitting her head against the wall. Esmeralda raised her head with interest, not really understanding.

Portrait Godric continued to cluck his tongue, oblivious to the intensifying strangulation hazard standing beside him, "Really, Sal! What have you been doing? And it's one of my students, too..."

Portrait Salazar exploded. "I'm a freaking PAINTING! What did you think I could be doing?! Use your bloody HEAD! ... And Sal! Stop laughing and help me control this dunderhead!"

Hermione struggled to keep herself from doubling over. Wandlessly, she fired several blasting spells until they quieted down. "My name is Hermione Granger, previously Salazar Slytherin. As much as I appreciate your highly entertaining welcome, Godric, please stop harassing my portrait. I do have a reputation to maintain."

Rowena blinked. "Sal? Is that really you?"

"I did tell you I'm back," portrait Salazar deadpanned.

Hermione chuckled. "I've charted the uncharted territory, Rowena, or some of it at least. While I was investingating what _avada kedavra_ does to souls, I had a crazy thought that maybe a dissipated soul can reform itself, or something of the sort. This would mean that under the right conditions, a person can temporarily die and return to the world some time later..."

Rowena listened carefully. "I suppose it would be plausible, if your theory on the properties and behaviour of souls is correct," she whispered after thinking for some time, "but the idea of it just sounds so _strange_!"

"What's even more surprising is that I would actually continue to investigate and try something so ridiculous," portrait Salazar remarked.

Hermione shrugged. "The evidence kept stacking up, and eventually I couldn't resist. But tell me, have you any idea what went wrong with my House?"

They frowned.

"You know better than anyone that ambition is a powerful drive, " Helga looked at her sadly, "And without careful guidance, it could easily become wasted or misdirected on the wrong things. And professors - no, mentors as good as you are very difficult to come by... I'm so sorry, Sal."

"I see," Hermione murmured, "It seems I've taken a bite too big when I designed my sorting criteria..."

"We've tried," portrait Rowena shook her head, "but no one listens to paintings. They don't even stop when they pass by us."

"People don't even know who I am anymore," portrait Salazar laughed drily, "Not that I'm inclined to remind them. I suspect the Gryffindors might try to burn me down if they find out."

"Only the headmaster actually talks to us," said portrait Godric, "the current one, Albus Dumbledore, is the best we've seen in a long time. Rowena, he's from your house, right?"

"Oh yes, he's very knowledgeable, and his intelligence is extraordinary."

"He's rather experienced with manipulating people too," portrait Salazar commented, "commendable, really. He organized one of the chief resistance forces to combat Lord Voldemort. I've been paying attention to their meetings. Dumbledore doesn't trust me, though. Sometimes I pretend to be asleep."

"About this Lord Voldemort," Hermione remembered, "From what I gathered, he seemed to be fighting for pureblood supremacy - but more importantly, world domination. He seemed to be quite successful as well, before he'd decided to kill a baby. Any idea why he would do that?"

"I've heard Dumbledore and Snape discuss a prophecy involving the self-made Dark Lord and an infant born at the end of July," said portrait Salazar. "Worthless gibberish, as you know."

Hermione nodded. "Unless the subjects believe it, in which case it becomes self-fulfilling. I see a possible motive now, but I'm still in the dark as to what actually happened to him when he tried to curse Harry Potter."

"Dumbledore asked us for our opinion on this as well," portrait Rowena said. "We think that most likely he had weakened himself in someway that he was forced to go into hiding. It was hard to say, as no one witnessed the scene, and half the house was in ashes by the time people got to it."

Hermione thought for a while. "Does Dumbledore believe the prophesy?"

"He says he is keeping an open mind," said portrait Salazar, "but deep down, I think he does."

"Which means -"

"-Yes. Young Harry has an eventful seven years ahead of him."

"You said Dumbledore and Snape, the current potion master. What's his significance?"

Portrait Salazar's eyes gleamed. "From what I gathered, Dumbledore guilt-tripped Snape into spying on the Death Eaters for him."

Hermione found herself anticipating Friday's potion lesson. Professor Snape should prove to be a very interesting and nuanced character. After some time, she stood. "I'll try to salvage as much from my House's situation as I can, I suppose. And if Voldemort is still alive, then I've returned at a very interesting time. Talk to you again soon?"

The four founders in the painting nodded.

"I still can't believe our Sally blossomed into a beautiful young lady!" Portrait Godric suddenly guffawed, eyes shining, "To think I've teased you with that nickname for so many years, and then -"

"Flattered, but not interested, Godric," Hermione called flippantly, and stepped out of the chamber to the cackling of her own portrait self.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: I just ate two slices of cake and am now on a sugar high lol... This may have made the chapter just a little bit weird.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

Friday. Double Potion with the Slytherins.

Hermione had arrived early to take a seat at the front of the class. The Slytherin students strolled lazily in after her as if they owned the place. Her fellow Gryffindors, having heard various unpleasant rumours about the Potion professor, hung back and were the last to come in. Draco Malfoy gave her a small shove as he passed. "So, _Granger, _words' getting around that you're a mudblood. And to think I almost sat beside you on the train," he sneered.

'_Already?' _Hermione thought. This was promising. It seemed that some Gryffindors and Slytherins still maintained contact, after all. But back to the subject of Malfoy. He appeared displeased that he didn't obtain a reaction from her. "Filthy mudblood," he muttered, taking a seat in the row behind her.

The pattern in which the room filled up was rather interesting. No Slytherin dared sit beside a "mudblood", and no Gryffindor (except her) dared sit near Snape. As a result, Hermione ended up with a whole table to herself.

Professor Snape spelled the door shut, took one look at the class, and sneered. He then proceeded to take the roll call, pausing at Harry's name.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Malfoy and bodyguards (Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle) sniggered.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He sounded bitter, Hermione thought. Perhaps he disliked his job? Unlikely. He understood potions and revered it. Perhaps there was another job that he'd wanted as well, then? She sat closer to the edge of her seat, partly to get a better look at Snape and partly because Malfoy might start doing something to her hair. She didn't fight with children and she was sure that the boy couldn't really hurt her, but it was better not to tempt him.

"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to a infusion of wormwood?"

This was advanced first-year material. She wouldn't blame Harry if he had no idea. Hermione raised her hand, intending to rescue Harry, but Snape ignored her. Interesting. Had he some sort of grudge against Harry? Or perhaps Harry's family?

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

"Tut, tut- fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione was ignored again.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

She internally winced on Harry's behalf. Even Salazar would not ask students to use this plant, also called aconite, until third year. What was the point of learning it now?

"I don't know," said Harry quietly, "I think Sally does, though. Why don't you try her -"

"For your information, Potter," Snape spoke over him, not even bothering to turn around and see who this Sally was, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

Like everyone else, Hermione scribbled the points down on her parchment so that she would not attract Professor Snape's wrath. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter," she heard Snape say over the noise.

Their harsh potion master then divided everyone into pairs, except for Hermione who had no partner due to the seating arrangements. Hermione watched Snape from the corner of her eye as she prepared the ingredients for the simple potion. He seemed to be criticizing everyone except for Malfoy, who he seemed to like, though Slytherins generally received better treatment than Gryffindors. Hermione herself was ignored for the entirety of the lesson. It made sense, she thought. If Snape was still spying for Dumbledore, then he would need to maintain good standing with Draco's father.

Her potion was near completion when clouds of acid green smoke erupted from the back of the class, followed by a whimper from Neville. "Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Take him to the hospital wing. And Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Hermione looked sympathetically at the angry red boils all over Neville's arms. _'He should sit with me next time. Especially since my table is the last place Professor Snape would look,"_

Madame Pomfrey, the Mediwitch, patched Neville up in minutes. Unfortunately, the boy's fear of potion-making and Snape would most likely linger for a while longer.

Upon returning to the common room, Hermione heard a collective groan from her housemates. Apparently a notice had been posted, announcing that the much anticipated Thursday flying lessons would be shared with the Slytherin's as well.

"I don't see why you're all so worried," she told them, "Traditionally, at Hogwarts, Quidditch is a Gryffindor sport." Of the four founders, Godric did spend the most time flying around on a broom.

This seemed to comfort some people. "Which book is our little Ravenclaw quoting now?" Lavender teased.

"Quidditch Throughout the Ages, probably," Hermione shrugged. She had indeed been flipping through such a title. "Here, you can read through it if you like, but I have to return it to the library tomorrow."

Lavender politely declined.

It seemed that the notice did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of either house, however. The children from magical families told many fanciful stories about flying, while the muggleborns listened desperately for anything that might help them stay airborne later on. Malfoy boasted loudly about flying around the countryside and nearly escaping muggles in helicopters. Even Ron told anyone who would listen about the time he'd nearly collided with a hang glider.

Hermione ate in silence, having little interest in a discussion involving the intricacies of Quidditch. It seemed that Ron didn't approve of her "prim and proper attitude", she thought with mild amusement, noting his little eye-roll at the way she cut her sausages into small pieces before eating them one at a time with a fork._ 'Well forgive me for having manners,' _she repressed a chuckle.

On Thursday morning, all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students lined up in a row.

In front of each person was a broomstick. The coach, Madam Hooch, blew a whistle. "Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" Everyone shouted. Hermione's broom rose into her hand obediently. It was old and worn, but much more shapely and fine-tuned than the ones they'd used when Hogwarts was new. Looking left and right, she saw that only a handful of students were holding their brooms. Harry was among them.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the row correcting their grips. "You don't need to grip the handle quite so hard," she said when she got to Hermione, "But otherwise your posture is excellent. Have you flown before?"

_'It has to be, or else those demented contraptions Godric insisted that we rode would've killed me a dozen times over,' _Hermione cringed undetectably at the memory."No, but I'm good at following directions,"

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two -"

Neville, afraid to be left on the ground kicked off before the whistle even touched her lips. He shot straight up like a cork, despite Madam Hooch's shouts of "Come back, boy!"

Hermione trained her wand, concealed in her robe, on Neville's broom, slowly changing its trajectory until it was no longer ascending. She heard Madam Hooch breath a sigh of relief, evidently thinking that Neville's got the broom under control. '_Now to bring you back down,'_ Hermione thought, gently tilting the broom forward.

Unfortunately, this movement startled the boy. He gasped, slipped sideways and landed in a heap. Madam Hooch ran to him, face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Hermione heard he mutter. "Come on, boy - it's all right, up you get... None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on dear."

The moment she was out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Around eight other Slytherins joined in.

"There's an adage that says the weak delights in the misery of others," Hermione stated as if pointing out something commonplace, "now how does that reflect on you?" Her voice, though calm, had its effect. They paused.

"Shut up, mudblood," said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. She sneered at her, though she lost the mood to laugh.

Then Malfoy darted forward and snatched something out of the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

A Remembrall, Hermione thought. She'd seen one in Diagon Alley during the summer.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about... Up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had already taken off. He hovered above an oak tree, waved the Remembrall and called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

'_We're really getting a little too cocky here, aren't we?'_ Hermione thought, discreetly training her wand on Malfoy.

To her horror, Harry leapt onto his own broom as well. "No! You'll get into trouble!" She shouted. She could handle this, and everyone would be safely back on the ground in no time!

But oh no, that reckless Gryffindor had to ignore her in favour of launching himself at Malfoy as a human javelin. "Give it here, or I'll knock you off that broom!"

Hermione sighed. '_Let's get this over with as soon as possible,'_ she thought, gradually tilting Malfoy's broom forward until the boy began to doubt his control.

"No Crabbe or Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!" Harry called.

"Catch it if you can, then!" Malfoy decided that perhaps he was safer on the ground after all. He threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the group of gathered students.

Very good, Hermione thought. '_Accio_ -' she prepared to cast, then noticed that Harry was actually angling himself to chase after the ball! '_Stupid Gryffindor! What's worth more, eh? This glass orb, or your neck?'_

Shaking her head slightly, she slowed the Remembrall just a little, so that Harry could catch it and have enough time to make a gentle landing.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Professor McGonagall was running toward them. Hermione saw Harry gulp nervously. '_Serves him right,'_ she watched as the stern professor drag Harry off, presumably to detention, '_perhaps Professor McGonagall could teach him some common sense.'_


	9. Chapter 9

At dinner, Hermione had to keep her mouth from dropping open when she overheard that instead of a detention, Harry got a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Only in Gryffindor would students be rewarded for such reckless behaviour.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle strolled over to the Gryffindor table smugly. They were under the very logical expectation that Harry would be expelled. Naturally, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were not pleased to see them. Naturally, to defend their Gryffindor honour, they _had_ to arrange a duel.

"Excuse me," Hermione walked over to remind them of something they seemed to have forgotten.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron grumbled.

_'Well that's nice of you!' _Hermione ignored him. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying -"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"- and you're really pushing your luck here -"

She was about to remind them that Crabbe was bigger than the two of them put together, that since they couldn't do meaningful magic they were at a definite disadvantage, but Harry cut her off. "And it's really none of your business."

"Good-bye," said Ron, shooing her away.

'_Fine! Get your nose broken. See if I care,' _Hermione thought with exasperation. She'd babysitted the Gryffindors for long enough, and in all likelihood Malfoy wouldn't even show up. If she was Malfoy, she would go straight to Filch then laugh at their plight from the safety of the Slytherin common room.

Besides, she really did have her own business to do tonight.

It was time to find out what was in the forbidden third floor corridor.

Disillusioning herself as usual, she waited till midnight and silently slipped out of the portrait hole after the sneaking forms of Harry and Ron. They didn't get far, however, before they heard a sort of snuffling. The boys in front of her stopped. "Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, voice trembling.

It turned out to be Neville, who was sleeping on the floor for some reason. He jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thanks goodness you found me!" He exclaimed loudly, "I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville," Harry quickly shushed him, "The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off somewhere. How's your arm?"

"Fine," said Neville.

"Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere. We'll see you later -"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone. The Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Hermione wanted to tell Neville that he would be safer here, actually, but then she would have to explain why she was invisible. _'Have fun, boys,_' she thought, leaving them to make for the Charms corridor. The forbidden door was easy enough to find, and easy enough to open. Any first year could've done it by the end of the year.

Beyond it, though, the three-headed dog was a different matter. It couldn't see her, but it was starting to sniff around. Quickly casting an enhanced bubblehead charm to cut off her scent, she had to wonder what Professor Dumbledore was thinking. Was he deliberately enticing first years to come and meet the dog? Some sort of trial for Harry?

She silently moved around the dog, being careful not to disturb the room in anyway. Apart from the dog, she found nothing extraordinary. _'This room is the one with the hidden trapdoor, if I remember correctly?' _

She peered under the dog's paws. There was indeed a trapdoor, but it was no longer hidden. It seemed that Dumbledore had intended for whoever enters the room to find it. Was this a deathtrap to lure intruders, or would it lead to another trial? And what was supposed to entice someone to open it at the risk of decapitation by dog bite?

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and three panting Gryffindors burst inside. _'Blast!' _Hermione cursed. She'd left the doors unlocked to provide herself a quick escape should it become necessary, but who would've thought _those three_ would come in here? They were supposed to be in the trophy room!

"I think Filch's gone," Ron said with relief (?!), leaning against the door to rest. He did not notice the salivating dog, who had definitely noticed them and who was definitely becoming angry. Neville eventually noticed this, but he was scared so stiff that he could do little more than tug weakly on Harry's sleeve. The dog crept closer. There was no choice. Hermione circled behind them and revealed herself. "Are you crazy? Get away from that dog!" she hissed.

"How did you -" Ron jumped. Hermione grabbed him and wheeled him around to face the bared yellow teeth of the dog, holding a hand over his mouth to muffle the anticipated scream. The four of them fell backward through the door, slammed it shut, and fled back to the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" She asked, looking them over.

"Never mind that - pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry. They scrambled into the common room and promptly collapsed into the armchairs. "Sally, where did you come from?"

"I was following you to make sure you don't lose any house points, duh!" She lied smoothly.

"But how come we didn't see you?"

"That's your problem. Honestly, if Filch had been sneaking up behind you, you would've been caught for sure!"

"Well you weren't much help either!" Ron yelled back.

Certain that they'd bought her story, Hermione stood, glaring. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could've all been killed - or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." This seemed to have sealed the effect nicely, as Ron could be heard mumbling, "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

She expected they would be avoiding her like the three-headed dog starting tomorrow, but whatever. She had much more important things to think about, such as...

... What exactly was Dumbledore keeping under the trapdoor?

The next morning, a disgruntled Hermione looked on as Harry was awarded a broom for yesterday's recklessness.

_'Honestly, what kind of message is this supposed to send? Priorities, McGonagall, priorities...'_ It seemed that though she had more sense than most, Professor McGonagall was still a Gryffindor at heart.

Over the next two months, Hermione made it a habit to visit her secret chamber once a week, though not on any specific days. There, she was safe to talk to Esmeralda, review her research notes and practice spells that would make the professors cringe. The portraits of her friends sometimes came to join her. They listened curiously to her description of the muggle world, (Portrait Salazar had some idea of its development, but he still couldn't believe his ears) and told her about the things they'd seen happen at Hogwarts over the millennium.

She'd found a small snake scratched into the side of a tap one day, which she promptly removed. Her "heir's" work, no doubt. She'd also discovered that the ghost of the student that Esmeralda accidentally killed still resided in the bathroom. Myrtle seemed to take a liking to Hermione and swore not to reveal the entrance of the chamber to anyone (the ghost felt especially flattered to be asked about her death), though it still saddened Hermione to look at her. Finally, Hermione did indeed find a "Tom Marvolo Riddle" by asking to see a record of student names in the Room of Requirements. Head boy and Prefect, huh? The next step was to find out what became of him.

She'd continued to sit in the first row in Potions. The Slytherins continued to avoid the seat beside her as if it was contaminated, though they fought for the tables in her vicinity, realizing that they could triple their success rates by copying her. Malfoy continued to attempt to sabotage either her hair or her cauldron, though never succeeding. And Professor Snape continued to ignore her presence.

On Halloween, Professor Flitwick deemed the class ready for the levitation charm. Hermione ended up partnered with Ron, to the boy's annoyance. Since she could easily cast the charm wandless, Hermione sat back and let Ron have the feather to himself. The class wasn't making too much progress, she'd noticed. All the feathers lay stubbornly on the table, and Harry and Seamus's feather was on fire.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione told him, "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

He snarled at her. "You do it then, if you're so clever!"

Sometimes she forget she was no longer a professor, Hermione thought as she demonstrated the correct way of levitating a feather. Ron clearly didn't appreciate her instructing. By the end of the class, he was in a very bad mood. Hermione didn't care to put up with his glares and his exaggerated sighs. She was itching to get back to her research papers. First year classes were quite boring.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," she heard Ron say to Harry as they pushed their way into the corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

_'An opportunity_,' Hermione chuckled to herself. Covering her face as if in tears, she ran past them to hide away in - where else? The second floor girls' bathroom. She hoped Ron felt bad about himself. Served him right for being so bloody rude.

Later that evening, she emerged from the secret tunnel to a putrid odour. It was coming from outside.

"Myrtle, has anything happened while I was gone?" Hermione frowned.

The ghost shook her head. "No one came in. They all hate me too much."

"Please don't say such depressing things about yourself, Myrtle. You're a wonderful girl," Hermione told her while listening carefully. Was that... footsteps?

"Thanks, Sally," Myrtle sniffed, "you're the only friend I have -"

The door crashed in before she could finish. Myrtle gasped. A mountain troll lumbered in, crunching pieces of the door under its feet. It was evidently confused.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Imperio," she cast, and the troll's eyes promptly clouded over.

'_Walk out of here. Walk down the stairs until there is no where else to go. Turn left and walk out of the castle. Go back home.'_

The troll slowly turned around and waddled toward the hallway. Trolls were simple creatures, she knew. They were very suggestible, though difficult to control as they were easily distracted. Nevertheless, if she did this right, they would be rid of the troll without any injuries, property damage or messes to clean up. With luck, no one would even know it's been here. _'Avoid people on your way out. Don't make trouble. That's it. There's a good boy -'_

"Sally! There's a troll in the school!" Harry and Ron suddenly charged in, causing the troll to turn around and blink curiously at them.

They actually came up here to _rescue_ her? "Stay away!" Hermione called while trying not to startle the troll, but the two Gryffindor _heroes_ didn't listen.

"Don't worry, Sally! We'll distract him!" Harry shouted as Ron chucked a piece of wood at its head.

"No!" Hermione yelled, but it was too late. The troll shook its lumpy head in anger, voiding all her carefully cajoling along with any future chances of keeping it under control. It stormed toward the boys, who backed up nervously. '_Damned Gryffindors and their bravery!' _Hermione cursed, exasperated. She would need to knock it out, then.

"Run! Get out of here!" She deliberately yelled loudly to shift the troll's attention away from them. _'Now what's a nice simple first year spell that can do the job?'_

"We're not leaving without you, Sally!" Instead of running for the door, Harry ran at the troll and launched himself onto its neck. '_For the love of Merlin!'_ She thought as he stuck his wand (Wand! Not even a sword or a dagger!) up its nose. Below, Ron was darting left and right to avoid the troll's stamping feet while screaming his head off, but still refused to leave. Godric would be so proud.

She trained her wand on the troll's heavy club. "Wingardium leviosa," she intoned clearly. Three pairs of eyes stared in fascination at the hovering club. Harry had enough sense at least to get off the troll to allow the club to drop over its head. The troll spun drunkenly then crashed to the floor, taking down several U-bends with it. Myrtle screamed, diving into her own U-bend in terror.

"What on Earth are you thinking?! You could've been killed!" Professor McGonagall rushed in, followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. Beside Hermione, the boys looked at each other, white-faced, no doubt wondering how to salvage their chances of keeping some house points.

Hermione shook her head. What was she going to do with them? "Please, professor," she sobbed reasonably realistically, "They came to look for me. I went looking for the troll because I thought - I thought I could deal with it on my own -"

_'And bloody well would've if they hadn't been so Gryffindor-'_

"- because I've read so much about them. If not for them, I would've died! Harry pushed his wand up its nostril-"

_'- like that's going to do any good -'_

"- and Ron used the levitation charm to knock it didn't have time to call anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived..."

The boys looked shocked at her lie, but tried to look as if the story wasn't new to them.

Professor McGonagall scolded her thoroughly and took off five points as punishment. However, Hermione was certain that their head of house would award twice that amount to Ron and Harry, the moment she leaves. Hanging her head, Hermione gently pushed past the stunned boys.

"Please have a little more regard for your own lives," she whispered in their ears, "but thank you for caring."

Stupid Gryffindors. But sometimes, you just had to put up with them.


	10. Chapter 10

Ever since the troll incident, Harry and Ron had been much more friendly to Hermione, having finally accepted the "stuck-up know-it-all" as one of them. Hermione had taken the opportunity to pressure Ron into learning the levitation charm since, as she told him, "What would Professor Flitwick say if you can't levitate a feather when you've supposedly levitated a club?"

Hermione learned a number of things from talking to them, including the existence of a small inconspicuously wrapped package that someone attempted to steal from Gringotts, but didn't succeed as it had been removed by Hagrid and Harry that same day. This was the bait for Dumbledore's trap, she supposed. For whom, she wasn't sure. From the Gringotts break-in, it seemed that the object was sought after by a relatively skilled wizard. But not too strong, she'd expect, if Harry was supposed to compete with him. This was only the practice run. Surely Professor Dumbledore wouldn't expose the prophesy child to something or someone he had little chance of surviving against.

It seemed that Harry and Ron had taken the bait as well. They told her that they'd noticed the trapdoor, and had arrived at the conclusion that the dog was guarding something. They did not seem inclined to go back and find out what it was, at least not yet.

But that quickly changed when one day when Snape had made the mistake of changing his bandage in the staff room, thus permitting Harry to see the reason for his limp since Halloween.

Harry, understandably, ran back telling them that Snape was evil and trying to steal whatever the three-headed dog was guarding.

Hermione had persuaded them to at least not _appear_ to be suspicious, lest they get themselves into trouble. Besides, she reminded them, what protection could they offer the mysterious object that the dog could not?

Meanwhile, her own suspicion for Quirrell grew. Like Snape, Quirrell had been left alone when all the teachers went down to the dungeon to look for the troll. Supposing the troll really did make it from the dungeon to the second floor in the short time it took for Quirrell to faint and for the rest of the staff to run downstairs, what were the chances that they'd so completely missed each other that no one heard or smelled anything?

Moreover, her portrait self said he'd seen no troll at any point that day, nor did he see Quirrell.

It now seemed likely that Quirrell let the troll into the castle as a distraction. To buy himself time to investigate the third floor corridor? Or something else?

This raised another point. Why bother with a troll at all? Whatever Quirrell needed to do on Halloween was no more risky to do at night. Was he somehow incapacitated then?

Hermione was one to take her own advice. As far as Quirrell was concerned, she was just an obedient student who listened politely in class, handed in detailed essays and never made any trouble. She would be the last person he needed to watch out for. Though, Hermione wondered if Dumbledore knew, and if this was why he hired Quirrell in the first place. Was Quirrell meant to be Harry's "test"? Or perhaps he'd thought Quirrell needed watching? Quirrell took a year-long sabbatical and came back drastically different. Perhaps Dumbledore was interested in something he'd done or encountered during his travels?

Portrait Salazar hadn't thought much of Quirrell until now, meaning that if there had been anything worth noting in Quirrell's past, Dumbledore didn't let him hear it. Portrait Godric, Rowena and Helga didn't know much about the once bright, if a little bookish, student either. They were still very much in the dark.

On the subject of Dumbledore, Hermione observed him peering at Harry from the high table on more than one occasion. His gaze was, as her portrait self described, sharp and penetrating. She couldn't say whether he was employing legilimency (and she'd set up a partial occulumency shield just in case), though the headmaster could probably do a fine job without it as well. He must've heard all the reports about Harry's adventures. What did he think of the boy's progress?

But on the surface at least, Hermione thought, life at Hogwarts was as usual. The bulk of the Gryffindor population was excitedly discussing their upcoming Quidditch game with the Slytherins, as well as their new Seeker. Lavender and Parvarti told her dreamily about a Hufflepuff third-year, Cedric Diggory, who they found rather handsome. Ron was teaching Harry to play chess and ignoring his Potion essay, now that he knew Hermione would be there to help him finish it anyways. This she greatly disapproved of, though there was only so much she could do. They didn't all have to become potion experts, after all.

By now, it was generally accepted that Hermione always knew something about everything, because she would've read about it somewhere. The impression was fuelled by her frequent visits to the library and the stack of advanced titles she carried in her arms. "Sally's a Gryffindor, but she really belongs in Ravenclaw," she'd heard them say when they introduce her sometimes.

Hermione just smiled, accepting the compliment.

* * *

><p>Blaise Zabini was not doing well on his Potion essay, not well at all.<p>

His mother had been owling him to tell him that she expected him to get high scores in Potion, as it was her best subject at Beauxbaton. She had no idea, he thought gloomily, what kind of mental _grilling_ Professor Snape was subjecting them to.

She'd scoffed when he told her this. "Nonsense! They all say Professor Snape favours you Slytherins! You're just not trying hard enough."

Well yeah, but it didn't mean they all automatically got high marks! That kind of treatment was bestowed upon Malfoy and Malfoy only. The rest of them may be exempt from detentions, but only just. In everything else, Slytherins had to struggle as much as the rest of the school.

In class, he had a lifeline, and he'd congratulated himself on being among the first to spot it. He'd noticed that the potion of the mudblood girl in the first row, Granger, was always turning out perfectly. It changed colour and bubbled exactly as the book said it would. It didn't take a genius to see that her brewing was far better than the rest of the class, including Malfoy's. Heck, even Snape couldn't find a fault in it!

So he'd carefully watched her cut up her ingredients and imitated, dropping things into his cauldron exactly when she did it. This paid off, as the mark on his potion samples rose from an "Unsatisfactory" to "Exceed Expectations".

On the homework assignments, though, he was on his own. His housemates were not very keen on helping each other, nor very keen on doing honest work. They sometime forget, Blaise thought as he skimmed through rows of books in the library for anything that would help him fill five pages of parchment, that ultimately they needed to actually learn the material to amount to anything. They couldn't cling to the coattails of their ancestors forever! Well, perhaps Malfoy could. The rest of them were wealthy, but they weren't exactly rolling in gold.

There was someone further down the row. Granger. Perhaps she would be willing to help him? He hadn't called her a mudblood yet, had he? And he hadn't laughed too loudly when Malfoy stole Longbottom's Rememberall, had he? There was no reason why she should be mad at _him_.

_'What am I thinking? Granger's a mudblood and a Gryffindor!'_ He couldn't just ask her to help him with Potions! He would be betraying his house! But on the other hand, he really was desperate...

No, Blaise told himself, this was resourcefulness. Wasn't it Slytherin to make use of anything they could get their hands on? Wouldn't it be Slytherin to take advantage of Granger's intelligence?

He nervously glanced left and right. There was not a soul in sight. So far, so good.

Gulping, he discreetly shuffled closer toward her. She didn't notice him yet, or she would've ran away. He was in control of the situation. So far, so good.

"Erm, Granger?" Blaise blurted out. No, that didn't sound right. He had to seem nice. What was her first name again? "Her... Hermy-inini?"

Oh no, that wasn't how Snape pronounced it. He'd gotten it wrong, didn't he?

Granger turned. "Call me Sally," she smiled (?) "All my friends do. It's much easier."

Sally? That would be much safer than Granger, should they be overheard. He would start calling her Sally. Or better yet, "Can I call you Sal?"

A certain un-Gryffindorish gleam flashed in her eyes, but he must've imagined it. "Certainly. How may I help you, Blaise?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could explain to me how the Draught of Living Death works..." Blaise tried not to look too eager. He couldn't believe how well this was going!

"Of course," She smiled brightly, "The Draught of Living Death is a potent sleep potion that works by inhibiting a particular part of your mind..."

He was saved! Blaise though as he sat down next to Sal and picked up his quill to write. Perhaps having a muggleborn friend wouldn't be so bad after all.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning was the big game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione had been dragged by Ron out to the Quidditch field early after breakfast. "This game can move Gryffindor into second place!" He emphasized, "You need to come and show support for your house!"

Taking a seat on the cold benches, Hermione discreetly cast a warming charm over herself. She didn't give a fig about Quidditch. If it hadn't been Harry's first game, and if Harry hadn't been (supposedly) the youngest Seeker in ages, she would've refused.

it appeared, though, that many of the professors shared Ron's sentiment. Professor McGonagall was standing watchfully beside the commentator, which was wise since Lee Jordan happened to be good friends with the "one or two" troublemakers mentioned by Percy. Hagrid had excited taken a seat beside Ron, grinning like a child. Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell were there as well, though they didn't look like the sort to enjoy such a pointless game. Indeed, Snape seemed about as riveted as Hermione felt. Or perhaps that was his default expression?

The two teams, Gryffindors in scarlet and Slytherins in emerald, met on the center of the field. On Madam Hooch's whistle, the snitch was released and the game begun. Hermione leaned back, applauded politely whenever Gryffindor scored, and tried to react appropriately when Ron yelled in shocked outrage at the Slytherin captain's antics. She didn't see how people could be expected to play by the rules when clearly the penalty for a foul is preferable to allowing the opponent to catch the snitch. But then again, the whole premis of the game must not be contemplated too closely with reason.

Lee's commentary was much more entertaining. "So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating -"

"Jordan!" Growled Professor McGonagall, ever so impartial.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul -"

"Jordan, I'm warning you -"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly killed the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure..."

'_Actually, I won't doubt it if that's exactly what those Bludgers are designed for... Wait. What's happening?'_ Above them, Harry's broom was jerking and climbing in a strange, and worrying, manner. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Collisions and Bludgers were one thing, but losing control was a whole new level of risk. Had someone hijacked Harry's broom?

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, voice shaking, "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful dark magic - No kid could do that to a Nimbus 2000!"

True, for the most part. The magic she'd used to control Neville and Malfoy's brooms during their first flying lesson was far too complicated for students, and would be quite challenging for most wizards presumably. It took more than a memorized incantation - the jinxer would need to think on the fly and adjust second by second. Hermione borrowed Hagrid's binoculars and zoomed in on Quirrell. As she suspected, he had his eyes fixed on Harry and was wearing an expression of intense concentration. His lips never stopped moving for a second.

A row behind him, Snape was doing the same thing. It was unlikely that he and Quirrell were working together. If they knew how to jinx a broom, they would know that it was a one person job. Too many casters would only weaken the effect. Most likely, Snape was casting a counterjinx.

With her other hand, Hermione slid her wand out of her pocket and trained it on a Bludger, causing it to zoom a little bit too close to the audience stand for comfort. A good many front row students fell backwards out of their seats, jostling the row behind them. In the commotion, Quirrell was forced to break eye contact.

'_Well that took care of that_,' Hermione thought as Harry righted himself on his broom again and quickly pulled into a smooth landing. Bludgers were unreliable by nature. Neither Quirrell nor Snape should suspect a third party involvement, especially when it didn't seem to be targeting anyone specifically. And Bludgers were far easier to jinx than brooms. She wondered why Quirrell didn't think of this in the first place.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a loud cheer that erupted among the Gryffindors, followed by an angry hiss among the Slytherins. "We won!" Ron shook her shoulders excitedly, "Harry caught the snitch!"

"Swallowed!" Down at the field, the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, was arguing with Madam Hooch, "He didn't catch it, he swallowed it!" But he was fighting a losing battle, because there were no rules that demands Seekers to catch the snitch with their hands. But then again, it never really said the Seeker cannot loop it with a butterfly net either...

Perhaps it was a blessing for the world that Salazar, or Hermione, hadn't been a fan of Quidditch.

The Gryffindors chanted victoriously as they accompanied their team back to the castle. Harry and Ron tried to discuss what happened to Harry's broom, with little success. Then Fred and George had managed to obtain some cake from the Hogwarts kitchen, and that was sufficient to distract Ron for the time being. Snickering lightly at this, Hermione withdrew to a relatively quiet corner to continue her reflection.

Until today, she had been sure that Quirrell was a part of Professor Dumbledore's "training" for Harry. Quirrell was supposed to race against Harry to whatever lay at the end of the third-floor corridor. He may be highly skilled, he may be a criminal, but he would be a planned adversary.

But then he tried to kill a harmless eleven-year-old. Why? It had no bearing whatsoever on what should be his objective. From his perspective, a first-year student was as big a threat as a fly. Why bother with Harry at all?

More importantly, why would Dumbledore intentionally pit Harry against someone with such a moral compass? Did he realize that Harry may very well die for real this year? Why would he risk it?

Had she been wrong about both of them?

Harry was the Chosen One.

If she considered the prophesy, then it all made sense. If Quirrell was working for Voldemort, then he would not only interested in the mysterious object but also Harry himself. He might decide that Harry must be killed in order to prepare for his master's return. And Dumbledore might feel that he had no choice, that Harry wouldn't stand a chance in the future if he hadn't been exposed to these comparably smaller - though still life-threatening - risks first.

Could she get rid of Quirrell first? Certainly, but it would be unwise. Even with all her experience and understanding of magic, her magic was still that of an eleven-year-old child. It was undeveloped, and the amount of power she could safely command was limited. Capability-wise she was at least on par with her professors, true, but to engage now in a duel with someone of Voldemort or Dumbledore's calibre would be taking an unnecessary risk. It would be much better to avoid attracting attention to herself, including Dumbledore's, and give herself around seven years to grow into the duellist she once was. That is, if Harry and Ron could avoid getting themselves killed first.

But just because she didn't want to duel Quirrell didn't mean she couldn't amuse herself by making his tenure as professor quite frustrating. This may have been the reason why Quirrell's chair so unluckily tipped over when he tried to get up at dinner, or why Quirrell had the misfortune of slipping and skidding down the front steps the next morning. Oddly enough, Hermione thought he'd almost looked thankful when he landed on his bottom that time. She wondered why that was.

Quirrell was tugging nervously on his turban again as witnesses burst into laughter at his predicament. The back of his head really seemed to be a sensitive spot, didn't it? Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. She'd wondered if he was hiding something beneath the turban before, but now it was actually starting to seem probable. Most likely a hard object, either very precious to him or designed to give him some sort of power, or a physical defect?

_'It would be useful to find out, if there was a risk-free way of doing so. But for now,_' her fingers twitched. Quirrell tripped over his robe and fell again, flat on his face this time. _'this would suffice._'

Allowing herself a small smirk amidst the roaring laughter of her fellow students, she slipped away from the scene to the library.

* * *

><p>After checking that the coast was clear, Blaise quietly hurried to the inconspicuous corner of the library where he knew Sal was waiting. They studied together regularly now. Funny enough, Blaise found working with her more relaxing than hanging around Malfoy, even if it meant checking over his shoulder every so often.<p>

As always, she was hard at work. Her table was burdened with several large stacks of books. "Injuries from dark curses?" he glanced at the cover of the topmost volume, "Quirrell didn't assign these as homework, did he?"

"Not exactly, but it does have some relation to the Curse of the Bogeys he was talking about the other day."

Blaise shook his head. He didn't know how someone could be so keen. But then again, he supposed there was a reason Sal was getting better grades than everyone else.

Curious, he peered over her shoulder at the book she was currently glued to, raising an eyebrow at the heading. "The Dangers of Practicing the Dark Arts: Physical Side Effects?"

"Personal interest," Sal shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be reading a book about the Dark Arts for no apparent reason.

Blaise couldn't help it when his eyebrow shot up even higher. What could she possibly use this for? Sure, it said "Dangers", which was probably the only reason it wasn't gathering dust in the restricted section. But wouldn't it be irrelevant if you weren't planning to the dark arts in the first place?

Blaise glanced at his friend again. No, Sal wouldn't approve of the dark arts. Many of the old Slytherin families wore it like a badge of honour, but the rest of the school treated dark arts and its practitioners like a plague. Especially the Gryffindors.

The first lesson Blaise had learned in Slytherin was, "Don't get yourself into a tricky situation if you can help it." So he wisely dropped the topic of dark arts and started talking about Professor Binn's dreadful history essay instead.

Still, he had to wonder. Sal had surprised him several times already, hadn't she? He'd thought muggleborns weren't supposed to be good at magic or have any respect for wizarding traditions, but she'd proven him wrong. He'd thought Gryffindors were supposed to avoid Slytherins like sworn enemies, but she'd proven him wrong again. All those rules the upper years had taught him, all those social norms he thought they had to follow, how was he to know which ones were right?

Lesson number two he'd learned in Slytherin, Blaise remembered. There's no such thing as cold hard rules, only expectations and guidelines.


	12. Chapter 12

The staff room, with its warm mahogany finish and its royal blue upholstery, was one of Minerva McGonagall's favourite retreats.

Most of the other professors seemed to agree, she noticed. Apart from Albus, who was probably busy in his office, all of her colleagues were currently reclined in the plush armchairs around the room, as relaxed as they would ever be. Sinatra was talking cheerily to Pomona about a radio show. Severus was lurking in his usual corner with a thick potion book. Sybil was mumuring to herself, crystal ball in hand. Even Rubeus Hagrid came in today with a teapot and a basket of food.

"So, anything new?" Minerva asked the room while politely declining one of Rubeus's rock cakes, "The students haven't been giving you any trouble, I hope."

"N...Not at all," Quinius squeaked, "no trouble..." There were nods of agreement.

"Of course, I'm still stuck with more or less the same bunch of idiots," Severus complained sourly. Minerva was used to his trademark pessimism. More or less? At least it was an improvement from what he'd said last year.

"Something interesting happened in my class," said Professor Binns.

Minerva McGonagall nearly choked on her tea at this. "Did you say something, Cuthbert?" Perhaps she'd heard wrong. She didn't mean to be disrespectful, but it had been common knowledge, even when she was a student, that the phrases "Professor Binns' class" and "interesting" were never to be used in the same sentence. Even now, she still felt like calling him Professor Binns. In all these years, he hadn't changed a bit.

To her surprise, Professor Binns - Cuthbert - nodded. "I've been having the first year students read their essays in class - because I cannot turn over parchments, as you know. They were assigned to write about medieval witch burnings and common evasion practices - "

That was one of the more interesting lessons, yes, Minerva thought.

"- and then a student made a very interesting analogy. She said that muggles persecuted magic because it was powerful and poorly understood, and that was why they feared it. And then," he paused (a rare practice, Minerva thought,) "she said this was rather like how we persecute the dark arts today."

And Cuthbert paused again, because he'd rarely been subjected to the undivided attention of so many people.

Minerva pursed her lips. She wondered if the student knew what she was implying. Then she wondered if the rest of the class caught it at all. "There was an uproar after that, I'd expect?"

"Fortunately not, or I shan't know what to do... But they did look more alert by the end of the class, I think, which was a good thing."

"Was this a Slytherin student?" Pomona asked. Severus smirked from his corner

"No, a Gryffindor. Her name... no, I can't remember, sorry. I've had too many students to remember all of them."

Strange, Minerva thought. Though when she thought about it, she could see that the student had a point. "Well I suppose she could draw some parallels... We hunt down dark wizards like our lives depend on it, but we really don't know anything about it."

"And then most of the times we toss them into Azkaban, whereas the muggles simply toss people into the fire," Sinatra added thoughtfully, "but at least we give them a trial, most of the time."

True. The comparison grew more apt the longer she looked at it. What was it about the dark arts that made them so bad?

She had no idea. She'd never cared to learn about them. In Defence Against the Dark Arts they might have a chance to see incantations and their effects, but she'd never read about their theories and principles. Did the school have any books like that?

"But dark wizards are evil!" Rubeus exclaimed, "Ye can't compare them to the innocent witches an' wizards who got murdered by the muggles!"

"That's what the muggles said too," Charity, who taught muggle studies, mumbled. It was what Minerva would've confidently said yesterday as well, but now she couldn't help but wonder. What did the dark arts even constitute, exactly? Did they even agree on a definition?

"But... just look at You-know-who! And them Slytherins -"

"Excuse me?" Severus interrupted icily. Hagrid's cheeks reddened, and he quickly apologized to the Slytherin Head of House. Minerva now wondered whether safety was the reason why the Slytherins always banded together. It was common knowledge that many of their families dabbled with dark magic, but they had arranged themselves in a strong enough position so that one could only suspect, but dared not lay accusations unless they openly admitted it.

Throughout the conversation, Quinius fidgeted in his seat. It was rather silly, Minerva realized, that a roomful of professors would be debating over one small comment in a first year student's essay. The girl probably meant nothing by it in the first place.

Pomona checked the clock. "Oh dear, I really ought to be going to my next class,"

And they each left for their respective classrooms. Minerva brisk-walked toward the transfiguration corridor, fully intent on arriving before any of the students accidentally set fire to the furniture like the first year boy (his name was Seamus Finnigan, she believed) had done yesterday. As she re-immersed herself in the hassle of the day, she allowed the matter of the history essay to settle to the back of her head.

Food for thought.

* * *

><p>"It sure is getting cold," Neville wrapped his new red-and-gold scarf tighter around his neck, shivering. "Look, all the flowers wilted. I think that's the last one, too."<p>

Hermione glanced at the single yellowing rose adorning the drying branches. "The Apothecary's Rose," she told him. Hogwarts' roses were of the same variety as the ones that once blossomed in the garden of the Slytherin castle, which was most likely in ruins by now. "An exceptionally hardy flower, but even it can only last so long."

Neville nodded. Hermione could see that he was making a mental note of the information. If there was anything the boy was exceptionally interested in, it was herbology. His essay on medicinal plants had been detailed enough to rival her own.

Even the fact that they were braving the biting wind and making the trek across the muddy field to greenhouse five spoke volumes to Neville's keenness. Ron had decided to skip Herbology today, opting instead for the warmth of the common room. Harry had been debating before Hermione pulled him along. From his expression, he looked as if he regretted not being more decisive.

"I bet we're going to be the only ones to show up today," he grumbled, "Professor Sprouts won't be able to teach a class with only three students."

"That's not true," Hermione told him, "Look, other people went to class as usual." A small group of first year students were heading toward them on their way back to the castle. Neville visibly blanched when he saw their green-and-silver scarves. He'd suffered a number of times at the hands of Malfoy and his cronies, who loved to ridicule him whenever they chanced to meet.

But his fears had been undeserved this time, as Malfoy was not in this group. One of the Slytherin girls, Daphne Greengrass, gave her a very slight smile as they passed. Hermione recognized her from Potions, where she'd sat next to Blaise.

Neville breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of earshot.

"See? Not everyone in Slytherin is a Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered. They were making progress, she noted.

She'd deliberately made herself and her capabilities highly visible in Potions, knowing that anyone who would truly do well in Slytherin would see past something as petty as blood status if the benefits were great enough. Blaise Zabini was the first, and she could see that a number of the more neutral students were swaying if only due to reciprocity. Once they get used to her, she would be able to reconsolidate some of House Slytherin's teachings that had been distorted beyond recognition over time.

The water-bogged earth squished as they stepped through it. "Sally?" Harry asked with some hesitation.

"Yes?"

"What you said yesterday in History, about how we treat the dark arts like muggles treat magic, what exactly did you mean?"

On her left, Neville stiffened. They'd both picked up on her point and spent time considering it, Hermione noted. "I meant exactly what you think, Harry. I've been reading some historical accounts, and I noticed that we use the same words to describe dark arts as muggles had used to describe magic. We call them evil, yet we know nothing about them at all. How do we know our hatred for them is justified?"

"But the dark spells Professor Quirrell talked about were really dangerous," Harry pointed out.

"Dangerous, yes, but so are all powerful things. Any tool can be used to do good or evil, and from what I've read magic and the dark arts just seemed to be heavier machinery."

Harry looked thoughtful. She knew he was trying to reconcile this with the impression he must've gotten from Hagrid and the others, as well as the name of the course, "Defence Against the Dark Arts".

"But they can't really be the same," Neville blurted, "Magic and the dark arts?"

"Why do you say that, Neville?"

Neville shivered. "You-know-who tortured my parents with dark arts."

Ah. It would be much more difficult to change opinions on the Gryffindor front, as it would involve reasoning with very emotionally charged people. "I'm so sorry, Neville..."

She could see that Neville didn't want to discuss the topic, but that wasn't an option. The issue must be resolved some time eventually. "You-know-who committed his crimes with _magic, _Neville," she told him gently, "which he used shamefully. But just as not every Slytherin is like Malfoy, not every dark art user is like you-know-who. Will you be strong and brave, like a true Gryffindor, and see the true culprit?"

An uncomfortable silence settled over them for the rest of their walk. Both boys were so deep in thought that they hadn't thought to question why she was so sure. No one said a word until they stepped through the door of Greenhouse five, appreciating the sheltered space. "I will, Sally," Neville said, quietly but determinedly.

"Thank you, Neville. I knew you would."

And then it was classes as usual.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione found the Friday Potion classes to be quite relaxing. She felt like she could sit here all day, surrounded by the calming fumes rising from her cauldron of maturing healing draught and undisturbed by professors or students. It was an added bonus that she'd brewed this potion so many times that she could afford to let her mind wander a little.

The rest of the class was having varying success, as usual. Blaise and Daphne's potion seemed to be reasonably successful - safe to drink at least. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Malfoy and Crabbe's, which seemed to be smoking. In the back of the room, Professor Snape could be heard harassing Ron and Harry about how their potion was "only good for washing cauldrons". The two poor Gryffindor boys found this incredibly unfair, and complained angrily the moment they left Snape's territory.

"At least it was liquid!" Ron grumbled between breaths as they climbed the winding stairs.

"And that's saying something," Harry added, "Half the class ended up with pots of goo. Goyle couldn't even pull his ladle out of his cauldron, and Snape didn't say a thing!"

They must've left the slug in for too long, Hermione thought. In theory, though, this shouldn't cause the potion to become any less effective. Perhaps Goyle's product could be used as a poultice? If the consistency was the only mistake, that is.

"Snape is evil, I swear. I hope he expose himself soon so that we can be rid of him once and for all. It would do everyone a favour -" Ron's rant was cut off when he nearly walked into Hagrid and his rather large basket of raw meat. "Oh. Hi Hagrid,"

"Hullo Ron, Harry, Sally," beamed the kind and friendly, if a bit naive, half-giant.

Harry eyed the basket oddly. "Are you going to feed the three-headed dog?"

Hagrid nearly dropped his load in surprise, but he fortunately caught it in time. Hermione was glad he did - it would've made quite a mess. "How did you know about Fluffy?" He asked with a frown.

'_The whole school's going to know about "Fluffy" if you keep carrying that much meat around,' _Hermione repressed a snort. "We... er... accidentally found him when we were running from Filch."

"We saw him standing on a trapdoor. We think he's guarding that thing you took out of Gringotts when you took me shopping," Harry told him, "Do you know what it is? You must have some idea."

"Now you stay away from Fluffy and whatever he's guarding!" Hagrid told them seriously, cradling his basket in one hand and waving the other.

"But Snape's trying to steal it," Harry told him earnestly, "He got bitten by Fluffy when he tried to sneak past him on Halloween!"

"Nonsense," Hagrid shook his head, "Snape's a teacher. He's helping to protect the... thing. Listen here, the package is none o' your business. It's between the headmaster and Nicolas Flamel -"

"Ah!" Ron smiled, "so there's someone named Nicolas Flamel involved, isn't there?"

One look at Hagrid's mortified expression cleared any lingering doubts. Hermione sighed. Just when she thought the boys had stopped thinking about the package...

They had originally intended to go back to the common room, but now the boys were suddenly keen on taking a detour to the library. Harry swore he saw the name somewhere, but they had no idea what Nicolas Flamel was famous for. Hermione absentmindedly leafed through books that seemed promising, making sure to look busy. On the one hand, she wasn't stupid enough to actually help the boys find potentially life-threatening situations to jump into (and then possibly require her to rescue them). On the other hand, she was rather curious about what Nicolas Flamel had entrusted Professor Dumbledore with. The world can benefit from a magical search engine, Hermione decided after they'd looked fruitlessly for three hours. She was sure the knowledge required to create the mechanism already exists - fundamentally, all it needed to do was recognize writing and process the information like the translation charm. The main difference was the output format.

They were eventually chased out of the library by Madame Pince, who'd apparently decided that Harry and Hermione had wandered a little too close to the Restricted Section. They weren't all that bothered, as it was near dinnertime in any case. Besides, search engine or not, Hermione was sure she would come across the name sooner or later. She'd been wasting no time in educating herself on the progress made in the magical world over the millennium, especially in Salazar's fields of expertise. The Book of Potions, by Zygmunt Budge, had been particularly useful and entertaining to read. She was impressed with the author's genius, even if she was slightly less impressed with the arrogance of the self-declared "greatest potion-maker ever born". She'd also learned of the invention of the "love potion", which from what she'd gathered seemed to have caused more trouble than it was worth. She wondered if they'd even bothered to investigate its side effects before it somehow became mainstream.

At dinner, Harry and Ron continued to discuss where they might've seen Nicolas Flamel's name until Fred and George's raucous guffaws drowned out the conversation. Apparently, poor Professor Quirrell had just spluttered out a spider after taking a drink from his pumpkin juice.

"Poor man," Fred shook his head completely unapologetically, "misfortune does seem to follow him everywhere, doesn't it?"

"Bless his soul," George said in a saintly voice, "May he find solace in his eternally cursed life."

Ron examined his own goblet with suspicion. "Do you reckon this is an accident, or do you think one of the house-elves played a prank?"

"I've read that house-elves cannot simply decide to play pranks, Ron. It probably just climbed in there on its own." Hermione recited, conveniently hiding a smirk behind her own goblet. The spider had indeed crawled into Quirrell's cup by itself. With a bit of magical prompting, of course.

"Good," Ron muttered, "I hate spiders." His older brothers burst into laughter again at this. Ron glared. "Shut up! It's your fault in the first place!"

"We know, brother dear," said Fred.

"But since our backsides have already endured the whacking of a dozen frying pans for the deed, we thought we'd make the most out of it."

"Speaking of family," Dean Thomas asked, "are any of you staying at school for Christmas?"

"Are you kidding? I would have Potions every single day if it means not having to see my uncle and my cousin," Harry asserted.

"You must really hate them with a passion then," Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps you can ask to stay at school over the summers as well?"

"It would be brilliant if I can. But then again," Harry grinned, "I think I might actually enjoy this summer. They don't know I'm not supposed to do magic outside school, so I can always threaten to turn Dudley into a pig. I think he'd been a bit afraid to come near me ever since I accidentally set a boa constrictor on him."

"No way!" Hermione allowed herself to look genuinely surprised. This sounded incredibly like her own favourite trick. Could it be that she was currently speaking to a cousin some hundred-times-removed? She glanced around. Her housemates had been engaged for some time in an exciting conversation about Ron's cousin Charlie and dragons. "How'd you do that?"

"I don't know, really... The boa constrictor at the reptile house was telling me how he really wanted to see Brazil, I guess. So when Dudley pushed me over, the glass just vanished."

Casting a discreet sound-blocking spell around them just in case, Hermione moved closer. "You were talking with him?" She clarified.

"Yeah," Harry was confused, "At first I thought it was weird, but that was before I found out about magic. I guess loads of wizards could do it."

_'Make a mental note to trace the Potter line, and make a mental note to find him books about parseltongue.'_ "No, I've read that it's not a common gift, Harry. You might want to keep this to yourself."

"If you say so, Sally..." Harry started to say, but was tapped on the shoulder by Ron. Hermione quickly removed the sound-blocking charm just before he turned to reply, and went back to sipping her pumpkin juice.

As she'd promised herself, Hermione sprinted upstairs to take out the books from the library at first chance. After ensuring that Harry wouldn't read them in public, and that he would indeed read them, she slipped out of the common room and made for the Room of Requirements. Like last time, the room had arranged itself into a near perfect replica of Salazar's office when she entered. It even had the steady green fire, and the thin glass vase of rose cuttings on the table. Hermione felt herself smile. This room had been Helga's idea. It took them a herculean amount of magic and brainpower to make it work, but it was absolutely worth the effort. She sat down on the familiar chaise.

_'I need to see Harry Potter's family tree.' _Shimmering letters appeared on the wall opposite to her at this thought. It was not a complete family tree, she knew, since the room only had access to the school records and books that had passed through the school. Still, it was a very good place to start.

Technically, she thought, the Room of Requirements was a magical search engine and more. It shouldn't take long to produce a simpler one for mass production.

Back to the matter at hand. She did not find anyone familiar in the mass of names. Of course, that was to be expected.

_'I need to talk to the founders' portraits.' _A large frame appeared, followed by her four friends. Each was wearing a curious expression.

"...never seen this place before. Wonder where it leads to," portrait Godric was muttering, "Oh, hello Sally. Should've known you were behind this."

"Room of Requirements? I rather like the décor," smiled portrait Salazar. "Why are we looking at Mr. Potter's lineage?"

"Harry Potter is a parselmouth."

"Ahh!" portrait Godric beamed, "See Sally, not every living member of your family is an evil git."

"Godric!" Portrait Helga scolded sharply.

Portrait Salazar pointedly ignored him in favour of studying the chart. "I don't see how we could be related, just going by what's listed here. Incidentally, the Potter family had been living for centuries in the village that Godric moved to after his old one got burnt by invaders. It's more likely that he's Godric's family than ours."

"That's the same village that Ignotus Peverell lived in, wasn't it?," Hermione noticed, "Maybe we're in-laws." At age sixteen, Salazar had realized that the danger of being betrothed to Merope was becoming very real. To save himself, he'd introduced her to the rich heir of Cadmus Peverell, one of his former mentors. It had been a perfect match, in Sal's opinion, since both of them had a strong taste for the showiest thing they could get their hands on. In retrospect, though, perhaps this had been a mistake. Too much vanity and too little sense was a dangerous combination.

Her portrait self seemed to be considering the same thing. "Perhaps it would've been better if we'd just married our _fair cousin_," he mused, "we knew that not many other people could handle her."

"Ah, we would've saved both the Slytherin and the Peverell names from falling into the mud, but we would've damned ourselves," Hermione reminded, "and personally, I found sanity a very useful thing to have during Hogwarts' construction."

"Too true."

"Look! The names are flickering," portrait Rowena pointed, "Is someone accessing the records?"

"You noticed?" Hermione was unsurprised that she did. "This happened the last time I was here as well. It looks as if someone's finally making use of the castle's tracking charms."

"Very useful, for troublemakers," portrait Godric grinned. "I'm glad someone finally thought to do this." This particular part of the records had been warded against tampering, but not against access, for the same reason that the curfew existed. Students could use the information as they please if they realize that it exists.

"The charm was cast by four irritating Gryffindors around fifteen years back - one of the was James Potter, incidentally," said portrait Salazar. "They made a map of the school that shows the name and location of everyone in the castle, as well as the entrances to just over half of the secret passages. Currently this parchment is in the possession of Fred and George Weasley. And yes, I've checked that your name reads 'Hermione Granger', even though you know it can't be anything else."

Portrait Godric clapped him on the shoulder hard. "Ha! Paranoid as ever, Sally! How many wards do you cast around yourself anyways?"

"You should know, Godric, since you've _tested_ most of them. Even my fire shield! And you wonder why I'm paranoid?"

"Well you were confident that it would work..." Godric bantered. Rowena and Helga giggled.

"And it did, as I knew it would. But that didn't give you permission to incinerate me! You know I hate fire!"

"So," Hermione gestured at the Potter family tree, "none of us know anything about any of these people? That's that, I suppose..."

_'I need to learn about Nicolas Flamel.'_

A heavy book appeared on the table. Alchemy?

Well. It appeared that this whole Quirrell business was more serious than she'd expected.

* * *

><p>Curtains safely drawn, Harry sat on his bed. The two books Sally had given him were laid out in front of him. The first one was heavy, worn, and appeared to be an encyclopaedia, or a basic textbook. The section "parseltongue" had already been bookmarked, no doubt by his understanding friend. Pointing his wandlight at it, he began to read.<p>

_'Parseltongue is the ability to talk to serpents. It is a very rare trait, passed down through the bloodline. __Wizards who are able to speak in such a language are called parselmouths. Over the centuries, parseltongue has become viewed as a hallmark of evil.'_

Harry blinked at the page, stunned. He most certainly was not!

He could see now why Sally advised him not to let people know. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would make him stand out more than he already did, in any case, but he would be even more careful now.

_'The first known parselmouth was Herpo the Foul, __who purportedly commandeered battalions of snakes to assassinate his victims. __Nevertheless, parseltongue is more widely associated with the Slytherin family, a line of nobles that once held substantial power and wealth. The family's most notorious member, Salazar Slytherin, had chosen the snake as the emblem of his House at the school he had co-founded. For more on Salazar Slytherin see page 144._

_'The last known parselmouths were the Gaunt family, who descended from the Slytherins. Accounts of their lives have been lost, as the family gradually fell from grace. There are sources that suggest that the feared Dark Lord who plagued Britain until recently had also been a parselmouth. The verity of these sources is dubious.'_

Harry shut the book, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't very comforting to think that he had something in common with any of these people.

He wasn't sorted into Slytherin though, he reminded himself. But then again, the hat did want to put him there... He wondered what Sally thought of him now. She didn't look upset or distant when she gave him the books. They were still friends, right?

His watch read 11:00. Sally had probably gone up to the girls' dormitories already. He would have to wait until the morning to find out.

Sighing, he turned his attention to the second book, _ On the Intellectual Capacity of Serpents. _This one seemed like a more technical book and was significantly smaller. He could tell that this book was much, much older than the first, as it appeared to be hand bound. Yet surprisingly, it was in better condition. Perhaps because no one cared to read it?

He turned over the leather cover, skimming the brief foreword. It didn't feel as fragile as he'd expected. Maybe it was preserved by magic.

_'Wild snakes, like lions and dragons, exhibit a primitive instinct-driven thought process. Nevertheless, they are perhaps differentiated from most animals in that their intellect can accommodate dramatic development, if given the opportunity. Rather like young children learning from adults, serpents learn quickly from contact with more intelligent beings, namely wizards and witches. Chapter one, two and three detail the general learning curve of a typical serpent, as well as the limit to its intellectual capacity. Chapter four and five describes notable exceptions. Chapter six and seven focus on the basilisk, a being aptly named the King of Serpents both for its power and intellect. _

_'My colleagues have advised me that the compilation of this book may not be worth the trouble. Parseltongue is, as far as we can tell, not an ability possessed by the masses. Nevertheless, I write in hopes that this knowledge can assist readers in making informed and considered decisions. It is my belief that even Herpo of Greece may hesitate to initiate the Thousand Vipers Massacre, if he had been able to appreciate its full horror. I also have faith that this book will one day find its way into the hands of one who may have use for it. If the world has seen fit to coin the term "Parselmouth", then I cannot be the only one._

_'A translation charm as well as a preservation charm have been cast over these pages. I have created twenty-five copies of this book in total. This copy will reside at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you are a student, then I wish you the best of luck on your endeavours. The world looks forward to your contributions and your brilliance. _

_'Salazar Slytherin.'_

Harry dropped the book out of reflex. He was reading Slytherin's book? But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since the author had already stated that he was a parselmouth. And as a founder and professor, naturally Slytherin would've written many books for the school's library.

Nevertheless, if not for the signature, Harry would've never guessed it. This was not how he'd expected Slytherin to sound like. It was too... nice.

But what had he been expecting? Gruesome plans for world conquest? Snarky, Snape-ish critiques of the reader's worthiness? Or snobby, Malfoy-ish remarks of how noble his blood was?

Not every Slytherin was like Malfoy, Harry reminded himself. This was probably true for the original Slytherin as well.

Redirecting his wandlight at the book, he turned the pages curiously. Slytherin was a good writer, he found. Pieces of information were mixed with colourful anecdotes, and even occasionally humour. By the time he finished the last chapter, it was long past midnight.

Harry leaned back on his pillow. He didn't feel like sleeping yet. Instead, he picked up the first book again and turned it to page 144.

_'Salazar Slytherin was one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was considered one of the most powerful wizards of his time, and a significant figure in the whole of magical history. Slytherin had been close friends with Godric Gryffindor, a reknowned knight and duellist as well as a founder of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Slytherin eventually left the school he'd founded to study the dark arts, which presumably lead to his downfall and death.'_

That was more or less what he'd heard elsewhere, Harry thought. This time, though, a small voice piped up in the back of his head. Did studying the dark arts necessarily make someone bad?

_'Throughout his adult life, Slytherin had been very politically active. It is believed that he played a major role in the establishment of the Statue of Secrecy, after which the wizard society officially hid itself from the muggles. Slytherin's attitude toward muggles had been strongly negative, and had authored numerous literatures about his views. It was said that Slytherin frequently argued with the other founders over Hogwarts' muggleborn policies. This may have been a source of friction between them, and may have contributed to his decision to leave Hogwarts.'_

The word "literatures" had been underlined by someone. Harry was pretty sure they were not allowed to do that, but when a book had passed through so many hands it couldn't be expected to stay pristine. There were writing squibbled between the lines too. It was rather small, but still readable. Harry brought the book close to his face and squinted at it.

It said, _'The Muggle-Magic Relationship: Current Status and How to Proceed. Aisle 450.'_

A book title? He would take a look in aisle 450. He was going to go to the library tomorrow in any case, to look for Nicolas Flamel.

Extinguishing the Lumos spell, Harry tucked the books safely under his pillow and drifted off to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N.: I removed the section about Harry's homelife in the previous chapter because it was out of place and I didn't really know how to handle it.**

* * *

><p>"Morning, Harry," Hermione waved from the Gryffindor table.<p>

"Morning Sally," Harry sat down beside her, a little bit stiffly. He looked a little nervous, Hermione noticed. It didn't take legilimency to see that he'd read the books.

Hermione smiled warmly, causing Harry to relax a little. "Pumpkin juice? Spiders not included, of course."

Several students near them sniggered, remembering what happened at yesterday's dinner. The situation with Quirrell really was a pain. Hermione had not studied alchemy extensively in her previous life, but she knew a thing or two. If the object guarded by the three-headed dog was what she believed it was, a philosopher's stone, then it was very likely that Voldemort was attempting to use its healing properties to restore himself to full power. This meant that Quirrell would go to much greater length to obtain it. It also meant that the consequences of allowing him to succeed would be much more undesirable.

It still wasn't a reason to reveal her power before she was ready. Nevertheless, Hermione really hoped that Professor Dumbledore knew what he was doing. From what her portrait self had told her, he should've been sensible enough to place some real protection around the stone, in addition to the phony ones meant to be broken.

Her current best course of action?

Play it safe and keep herself hidden. For additional security, continue to keep an eye on Dumbledore.

Keep Harry and Ron away from Quirrell and the stone. Should they succeed in removing it from its hiding place, then the stone would be momentarily protected by nothing but two eleven-year-olds. Up to now, she'd tried not to give the potion master trouble, knowing that he had a lot on his plate already, but she would direct their attention to Snape if she needed to. Besides, considering the way he'd been acting toward his students, he couldn't complain that he didn't deserve their hostility.

She had been planning to go home for Yule, which had been combined with Christmas some centuries ago, but now she realized that it might be a better idea to stay at school. She'd written to her parents last night, saying that she needed to catch up on her schoolwork over the Christmas break. They would understand. They did take her education very seriously.

From what she'd heard, Hogwarts would become mostly empty in two weeks. Harry and the Weasley brothers were the only ones who would be staying for the feast. Blaise was going to attend the annual Yule dinner at Malfoy Manor, along with a large part of Slytherin House. Hermione could appreciate its importance, knowing that the true purpose of such parties was for the host family to affirm allegiance and perhaps exert their influence on their network if necessary. Young Salazar had attended numerous of these gatherings throughout the year, ever since father could trust him not to say the wrong things. It was helpful to act humble and respectful, Salazar had found, especially when his family was host. Power and family status would speak for itself. Meanwhile, humility calmed people's egos and had allowed him to extract certain favours that would've otherwise not been possible, such as a promise of mentorship from the Peverell brothers.

"...Oh it'll be the grandest thing you've ever seen, Nott. The banquet table will be four times longer than the one at your house last summer. Everyone will be talking about it for the whole of January. And Avery, wear a different dress gown this time. Surely your family can afford more than just that one?" At the moment, Draco Malfoy was boasting about his father's party, and loudly so that his voice carried to the tables of the other houses. Hermione didn't missed the slight dip of Avery's head, or the way Theodore Nott stabbed at his toast a little more harshly than necessary. Malfoy would learn, in time, or it would cost him.

* * *

><p>On the other side of the hall, Blaise flinched slightly at Malfoy's words, but thankfully recovered before anyone spotted it.<p>

Theodore had his full sympathy. True, the Malfoys were indisputably the most influential and wealthiest family today, but the Notts were an ancient and politically significant family as well. They had their pride. Malfoy's assertion that his family's parties would be much better than Theodore's could be considered a direct insult to strength of the Nott family's network.

And he was sure that most first year students, excepting the Slytherins of course, didn't even have a dress gown. The Averys were simply being sensible.

But Malfoy's arrogance was detriment to no one but himself. Blaise, like a good Slytherin, saw an opportunity. Thus, after breakfast, he'd made sure to corner Daphne and Theodore before they could make their way to Pansy Parkinson and the library, respectively. "So, you know how you've been pestering me about the supposed secrets to my potion grades?"

Lesson number three in Slytherin: Rules are only guidelines, but if you intend to continue doing something truly shocking, make sure to implicate as many people as possible before you inevitably get caught. They would likely become your primary supporters.

"Yeah Blaise, what is it?" Daphne asked, "I mean, we hand in the same potion, but your final mark is a level higher than mine."

"What books have you been reading that I haven't found yet?" asked Theodore curiously.

"Not a book, Theodore, I have a tutor, sort of. But she's almost like a walking encyclopaedia... rather like you, actually."

Sal had told him that she'd love to make some new friends. After considering which of his housemates were "safe", so to say, Blaise settled on two.

Daphne, because Blaise knew her well from Potions. Blaise also knew that she was still close with Pavarti Patil in Gryffindor, and Hannah Abbott in Hufflepuff.

Theodore, because he buried himself in books as much as Sal did. They would get along swimmingly. Besides, at least Blaise could now be reasonably sure that he wouldn't tell Malfoy about this.

Moreover, introducing them to Sal would also bring Daphne and Theodore closer to himself, strengthening his own group of allies. Again, the Notts and the Greengrass were not Malfoys, but neither were they to be taken lightly. Blaise got a sense of satisfaction from this thought. Malfoy and Parkinson had their connections handed to them by their parents, but Blaise would win his allies by his own strength and intelligence.

_'If this all works out, that is.'_

"A tutor! Who is she?"

"Remember the girl in the first row from Potions? I call her Sal, but you might know her better as Granger."

Daphne's eyes went wide. "You're _friends_?"

"Zabini, you were there in the common room," frowned Theodore, "when Malfoy was complaining loudly about - excuse my language - 'the mudblood Granger', right?"

Hmm, this didn't sound good.

"I was," Blaise replied, "and so were you, but you still found her quite intelligent, no? Weren't you following her in the library, trying to see which books she was learning from?" Sal had noticed this the other day, and had asked him whether the boy in the row of bookshelves adjacent to theirs was Theodore Nott. He was.

Theodore looked thoughtful. "Personally I don't really see the point of the whole muggleborn business, not when Granger acts more refined than some of the purebloods," He admitted. Here he cast fleeting glances at Ron Weasley, then Malfoy. "If she's got brains, then she's worth talking to I suppose."

Watching his housemate closely, Blaise realized that Theodore had came to this conclusion long ago. So that remark about Malfoy... was it to gauge his own likelihood of having a change of heart?

"Ooh, Pavarti did say that Sally Granger is really meant for Ravenclaw," Daphne remarked, "She must be one of the best students in our year. The other being you, Theodore, of course."

Blaise had to agree. Ravenclaw did sound like a much more suitable place for someone who loved books as much as she did. And whatever Sal was, he was sure that she was not a Gryffindor.

"I'm guessing you didn't bring this up without a reason, Blaise," Theodore noted, "are we going to get an introduction?"

"Yes,"

Theodore glanced at Malfoy again. The blond was strutting down the corridor as if he owned the place, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him. He picked up his book bag.

"Tell me when, won't you?"

"Of course, Theodore."

After both Theodore and Daphne had left, Blaise breathed a sigh of relief and strolled out of the Great Hall. This could've easily blew up in his face disastrously, like poorly cooked potion, but he'd succeeded. And it was actually worth something, too. Not some childish victory like leg-locking weaker students, or causing Gryffindor to lose a couple of points.

The seal of Hogwarts was embossed in the wall outside, surrounded by words in Latin. Blaise looked up at the coiled snake in the upper right quadrant.

_'You'd be proud of me, wouldn't you?'_

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: There's still quite a bit of cleverness in Salazar's house after all :D<strong>

**The Slytherins sometimes address each other by last name to honour their family lineage. Malfoy is always getting called by his family name because he's so proud of it. **


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione sat comfortably at the usual table deep within the library, where no one cared to go. Blaise, she noticed, was shifting in his seat slightly, though he was already relatively good at concealing his nervousness.

She'd been subtly making Blaise aware of a number of potential allies for the past few months in their conversations. Theodore Nott was rather like young Salazar, up to a point. He socialized with the children of his father's allies, as required of someone of his lineage, but only perfunctorily. He perceived most of his peers to be shallow and didn't fancy their company, instead opting to spend his time among books. Thus, Hermione knew that he craved an intellectual equal, more than he cared about blood status.

Malfoy's petty behaviour at breakfast, coupled with the slight to his family's social standing, pushed him over the edge. Blaise had caught on to this, partially at least, and decided to approach him before Theodore could change his mind. The approval of a Nott would also reassure Daphne Greengrass enough to risk her position in Pansy Parkinson's circle. It was quite clever of him.

_'Well played, young snake,' _Hermione continued to turn the pages of her book, eyes betraying none of these thoughts.

Eventually, two figures slipped through the row of books and stopped at their table. "Daphne, Theodore, this is Sally Granger. Sal, Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott."

Hermione stood, as per customs, to shake their hands. "A pleasure to meet you, Daphne, Theodore," she said with a small, controlled smile. They looked surprised, no doubt reminded of the greetings exchanged at their parents' gatherings. This would make sure they took her seriously.

"I've always wanted to meet Pavarti's mysterious friend," she continued as they each took a seat, "and the only other first-year who'd brewed a perfect healing draught."

"Your potion deserves more congratulation, though," Theodore remarked, "I must say I was surprised, Sal. They say that traditionally, potion-making is a Slytherin art."

"I can see why. It needs you to be observant and precise, but most importantly, able to think quickly and adjust for errors. This is your house's strength, I believe."

"Not many people put it like that," Daphne noted.

Theodore agreed. "This is the first time I've heard someone praise the ability to correct course... Not that we get many compliments at all."

"I always thought it's a part of being clever," Hermione simply smiled, "but of course, you as a Slytherin would probably know better than I."

They didn't say too much, opting instead to set to work on their potion essays. This was the risk-free option. It seemed that both Daphne and Theodore liked to assess people and situations as much as possible before gradually involving themselves. Most likely, they would avoid talking about anything other than actual schoolwork, until they could get time to reflect. This suited Hermione fine. In keeping with her current reputation, she kept the discussions at first year level, while occasionally bringing up an idea that should be just above Theodore's understanding.

Theodore, as she'd expected, was very knowledgeable for a first-year. This was not only due to his habit of reading, but also to his talent for thinking creatively and applying what he read in books to different situations. His primary interests were potions and transfiguration. He didn't particularly gravitate to the more potent end of the magical spectrum, and had a stronger preference for things that would be handy. Like Sal herself, Theodore was reserved and kept his opinions behind a thin veil. However, they were different in that Theodore preferred to work alone whenever possible, whereas Sal would be more likely to leverage the strength of others.

Daphne was remarkably sensible and tactful - the reason she was able to remain close friends with both Pansy and Pavarti even after the two became openly hostile to each other. She always phrased her opinions in a way that could offend no one and, Hermione imagined, would leave her with room to maneuver should it become necessary. She also regularly wove little compliments into her dialogue, so seamlessly each time that Hermione wondered if she was aware of what she was doing. Daphne likely wouldn't have a group of followers bowing down to her, but the size of her network could easily surpass Malfoy's or Pansy's. She would never lack resources, for certain.

Their study session ended at lunchtime, with the pleasantly exchanged agreement to meet again the Saturday after they return to school. After they went their separate ways, Hermione took a quick detour through aisle 450. The book whose title she'd written into _An Overview of Magic_ was gone. Noting this, Hermione strolled leisurely to the Great Hall, where she sat between Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table. A discreet glance at the other side of the hall showed that Daphne was attentively listening to Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be sharing a juicy piece of gossip. Theodore was engaging in polite conversation, as was Blaise, but mostly focused on his plate. Nothing about their demeanour spoke of anything out of the ordinary. The Slytherin table was business as usual.

In contrast, the Gryffindors were noticeably quieter. Harry didn't talk at all, and responded much more slowly when someone called him. It wasn't hard to tell what was on his mind. Nicholas Flamel, as well as a certain book authored by a certain infamous founder. She would give him a bit of time with that. However, the primary cause for the uncharacteristically demure atmosphere was the lack of input from the Weasley twins. Rather than cracking jokes every five minutes, Fred and George looked rather pensive. Lee Jordan wasn't talking as much as he usually did either. Ron and Percy were openly surprised by the change, and the latter was clearly pleased. They wondered whether their boisterous brothers were finally out of jokes and, upon being proven wrong, whether they'd finally learned to behave. Having caught them sneaking glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking, and from the way they kept staring across the hall, Hermione had a basic idea of what they might be thinking. She hadn't forgotten about their handy map, after all.

After lunch, Hermione slipped away from the stream of students to her underground chamber. She was pleased by the morning's events. There was as much potential in House Slytherin as ever, and most of its students knew what was right. With a little bit of navigation adjustment, it was well on its way to become what it was meant to be in the first place. Meanwhile, she was making steady progress on healing the rift between Hogwarts' houses, and new opportunities were presenting themselves.

Esmeralda hissed in greeting, and Hermione gently stroked her head. Three partially developed potion experiments were waiting for her in the center of the room, as she'd left them the last time.

Time to get back to work.

* * *

><p>Peeves was a poltergeist, but he wasn't immune to fear. Therefore, when the Baron descended upon him near curfew time and ordered him to set the bronze statue back where it belonged, Peeves obeyed without a word. Pity. The fun he could've had, dropping it on an ickle firstie's head...<p>

The Baron was a scary man, he was. He was worse than Sally, really. Peeves had hoped that His Eminence Lord Slitheriness would forget to pass on his knowledge of ghosts when he left, but alas, fate was not kind to Peeves. Poor Peevesy had to spend a whole day hiding from smirking snakes while dodging volleys of Sally's choicest curses. The Baron was the most persistent of them all. He wouldn't let Peeves get away with anything. Peeves found this very unfair. It wasn't Peevesy's fault that of all the cute ickle firsties, the Baron had to be the one to get hit by the dungbombs...

Peeves was still afraid of the Baron, even now that he was a groaning, clanking ghost, which was why he glumly set the statue down even as an adorable ickle firstie turned the corner. But Peeves supposed he should be thankful after all. Firsties were fun, most of the time. But with this particular firstie... Well, Peeves was just glad that the statue was bronze and not iron.

Being locked inside an armour for three weeks was not fun, not fun at all. Peevesy couldn't move, couldn't make noises, couldn't hurl water balloons at professors... Peevesy had to admit that it was genius, even though it was so, so cruel. And when Peeves finally freed himself from his iron prison, he came to one terrible conclusion.

Peeves didn't know how, nor did he care, but His Eminence Lord Slitheriness was back. Or was it now _Her_ Eminence?

"Hello, Sal-ly!" Peeves bowed dramatically. Peeves loved this nickname. When Peeves first arrived, Sally had cursed him every time he said that. Peeves found this very unfair. It wasn't Peevesy's fault that Godric's nickname was so funny. Eventually, Sally didn't bother to punish him anymore, but he still complained.

And now, Sally couldn't even complain about it! Ha!

Peeves was sometimes tempted to say Sally's full name, but then little Sally might get hurt, and then she might get angry enough to do something _really_ dreadful to Peeves. Sally was smart, and Peeves wasn't an idiot. They still had an agreement.

The Baron whirled around, surprised. Peeves knew that the Baron would remember the millennium-old greeting, but Sally wouldn't mind too much if only the Baron found out, would she? The Baron wouldn't betray her. Sally was safe. Peeves was safe.

But still, perhaps it would be safer if he removed himself from the scene quickly. Don't stand beside explosives longer than you need to, that's what Peeves always said.

Cackling madly, Peeves disappeared with a crack.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: Thank you for all the great reviews! <strong>

**Most likely Hermione won't really be romantically involved with anyone, but I might consider it in the very distant future if one of the characters develop into a good match for her. (This certainly won't be Ron.) **


	16. Chapter 16

"Professor Slytherin?"

Hermione looked the pearly white ghost in the eyes. "Hello, Baron Edmund. How have you been?"

"Not well," the Baron laughed drily, "but I complain more than I should. What happened to you, Professor?"

"Reincarnated in an experiment," He didn't move as Hermione's gaze slid over the chains around his neck, the silver blood splattered down his front and the knife wound in his chest. "What happened to you, Edmund? How did you die?"

"Professor Gryffindor and Professor Hufflepuff didn't write to you?"

"No... I must've gone before you did, Edmund."

"It's almost curfew, Professor. Perhaps you should go back."

"Ah, and when did you ever give a damn about curfews, Edmund?"

They both smirked.

"I'll look for you in the Astronomy Tower at midnight. I've been told you spend most of your time there."

"Certainly, Professor." He glided away. Hermione left the other way, up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Upon entering the common room, she was greeted by the sight of her housemates huddled around the fireplace. More precisely, one table beside the fireplace.

"Sally!" Neville called, "Come and see! Harry's found Slytherin's supposedly anti-muggleborn book, and it looks like the history books' got it all wrong!"

"Really?" Hermione was impressed. She hadn't expected the tiny note she made in the encyclopaedia to be so effective. Most people were, after all, not very interested in debating history. Hermione glanced over Ron's head at the opened book. It was opened to last chapter, titled _Final Notes_. She read the page, even though she already knew what it said.

_'Please remember that as individuals, muggles are inherently not very different from you or I. Their brains are perfectly capable of complex thoughts, should they take the trouble to learn. However, regrettably, their society does not allow for this, and thus they are restrained to listening to passages of a single book once a week at church. Perhaps this may change in the far future, but it certainly will not happen in our grandchildren's lifetime. It is safer, and better for both parties, to shield ourselves from their tantrums._

_'Muggleborn witches and wizards ought to be welcomed into our society with open arms. It would be a shame, as well as a great loss for us, if they are forced to hide away their gifts and will themselves back into ignorance. My colleague Rowena Ravenclaw and I propose a system to identify every young witch and wizard by magical signature, rather than heritage. The details are still in the works, and will be implemented at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry once completed...'_

"Hey, Slytherin actually sounds like a decent human being here," Ron squinted at the book as if trying to decipher a secret code.

"To start a school, Ron, you kind of have to be," Hermione reminded with both amusement and trepidation.

"They say Slytherin didn't want to teach muggleborns, but that can't be right if he helped ensure that muggleborns are accepted into Hogwarts, can it?" Harry questioned, "I wonder how many historians actually read his original text."

"But he does say he doesn't like muggles," Dean Thomas noted. "Mind, if what Professor Binns said about witch-burning was true, then he's got a reason to."

"He did practice the dark arts, though," Pavarti reminded. A number of students nodded. "But at least he wasn't as bad as we thought he was."

It was good that they still remembered her essay about witch-burnings, though not consciously. It created a good platform for her to build from, and she would be able to make use of it soon enough now that they have the muggleborn-hating nonsense cleared up.

For now, she just needed to do one more thing. "I wonder what Malfoy would say if he reads this. Maybe he would be nicer..."

Fred and George suddenly snapped their fingers. "We should show Slytherin's book to the Slytherins!"

Hermione watched as they withdrew to a corner and started drawing out their plans. She couldn't wait to see what they come up with. Smiling indiscernibly, she climbed up to her dormitory and waited for midnight.

* * *

><p>Though it was neither hidden, or forbidden, the Astronomy Tower was deserted as usual. Pale moonlight beamed in through the open arches that served as windows, onto the pale grey stone tiles. Hermione sat down in one of the small wooden chairs before removing her disillusionment charm.<p>

"I've had to pass Peeves again on my way up," she told the hovering Baron. "He seems to be immensely afraid of you."

Edmund laughed. "He should be. I can't begin to describe my happiness when you taught us how to curse a poltergeist."

"Well we can't let him have his way, can we?" Hermione smiled, "But Edmund, tell me what happened to you. That wound looks ghastly."

He nodded sadly. The chains on his chest rattled. "A broken heart does that to you. You know how I've always loved Helena…"

Hermione listened with a heavy heart as he described how Helena had stolen her mother's diadem and ran away, and how Rowena had asked him to find her daughter when she fell ill in her later years. He'd eventually succeeded - it had never been possible to hide something from Edmund forever - but when she refused to return with him…

"… I lost control of my rage, Professor Slytherin, as you've always cautioned me against. I killed her. And then… I couldn't live with the terrible deed hanging over my soul."

Hermione sighed softly. "You did this to yourself, Edmund,"

"I know."

"But you have my fullest sympathy."

A cold gust of wind swept through the tower. Hermione cast a warming charm. "You never told the portraits?"

"We didn't want to grieve them."

"Perhaps it's for the better. Those were painted when everyone was as happy and content as they could ever be… Godric and Helga never told me that Rowena lost her daughter."

"She didn't tell them either, Salazar. She kept it to herself until her death," the Baron revealed, chuckling at the slight widening of her eyes. "Don't be so surprised, Professor. You weren't always forthcoming yourself."

Hermione had to admit the truth in this.

Edmund's voice took on a lighter tone. "So, Professor Slytherin, you're a student now. And you've gotten yourself sorted into Professor Gryffindor's house."

"The last place anyone would expect me to go, including the Sorting Hat," Hermione smiled.

Edmund wrinkled his nose. "I don't like what's happening with our house. Ever since the thirteenth century it's been falling."

"It's fortunate that I'm back, then."

"Are you going to restore it to its former grandeur, Salazar?"

"Of course, Edmund." Did he even need to ask? "It would be an injustice to the students, and the magical society as a whole, if it's left to deteriorate."

Edmund nodded gravely. "I thought you would say that."

Hermione arched her eyebrow. What was the Baron driving at? She waited for him to continue, but he simply stared out the window at the shimmering surface of the lake.

"You've given me many valuable advices, Professor Slytherin," he said at length, "But I have a feeling you might benefit from one of them now. A new life is an opportunity. Don't make the same mistakes. Let the past go if you need to."

Hermione's eyebrow rose further. This she hadn't been expecting. "Could you elaborate on which mistakes you're referring to, Edmund?"

Baron Edmund was now counting the stone tiles on the floor, rather like he used to do when facing an imminent detention. "I have a confession to make, Professor. In my fourth year, a group of my friends and I chanced to see the door of the staff room slightly ajar after dinner one day. We peeked inside, partly because we've never seen it before, and partly because we thought we smelled firewhisky. It turned out that you, Professor Gryffindor, Professor Hufflepuff and Professor Ravenclaw were celebrating the twentieth anniversary of the school."

"Ah! The one time I made the error of allowing Godric to talk me into getting myself inebriated," Hermione remembered fondly. The argument Godric had used was that if Salazar was the only one to retain a functioning head by the end of the night, he would remember enough to tease the other three founders to no end. Or something along those lines. After Rowena had assured him that nothing could possibly happen that would require his immediate attention, and because he was already starting to have thoughts of leaving, Salazar gave in. Needless to say, it didn't end well. "How have I embarrassed myself, Edmund?"

The Baron scratched his head. "You didn't, actually. We were hoping you would, but you just sat there as if you were completely unaffected. Godric made quite a show, singing and dancing on the table and all. Even Professor Ravenclaw had firewhisky running down her chin. We sniggered about it for months."

Hermione chuckled. That would've been quite a sight.

"At around midnight, Godric was sprawled out on the table and snoring. Rowena and Helga seemed to have fallen asleep in their chairs. You slipped out of the room. My friends snuck away at this point as well, debating how you could still walk gracefully after… how many drinks was it?"

"I really have no idea, Edmund. I can't remember anything from that night. You tell me."

"I might've lost count," Edmund laughed. "It wasn't until I saw you heading for the wrong set of stairs that I realized you might be intoxicated after all. Thinking myself very clever, I followed you, hoping to score some details that might be persuasive should we have another negotiation about the length of my detention."

"Very clever indeed," Hermione couldn't help but applaud his deviousness, "I expect no less from you, Edmund."

"Thank you, Professor Slytherin," A small smirk flashed over his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "I saw you climb further and further up the Astronomy Tower. I kept my distance, just in case you did decide to look back, but you never did. Eventually I reached the top landing - that is, here. I remembered creeping in quietly, curious as to what mischief you could be executing up here."

The Baron looked solemn now, and he took a second to choose his words. "You were kneeling in the middle of the room, Salazar. I thought you were shivering from the cold. It took me a minute to realize that you were sobbing. And I was so surprised...I didn't think you could cry."

Had she trusted Edmund any less, and had he looked any less sincere, she wouldn't have believed him. Hermione blinked, taking this in. She hadn't cried once after age five, if her memory served, in this life and the last. Tears were a safe form of outlet for victims of the circumstance, left at the mercy of fate and unable to change their situation. And hadn't Salazar always been able to evade such a plight?

"And I didn't see why you should," Edmund continued, "You were as successful as anyone could ever be. You wanted to stop the witchhunts in your village peacefully, so you did. You wanted to eliminate violence between magic and muggles, so you established the Statue of Secrecy. You wanted to cultivate knowledge and progress, so you built Hogwarts. And even as you spent your time teaching, you still managed to maintain your duties as Lord Slytherin. Your village continued to flourish, and the muggles didn't even know you no longer lived there. At the same time, you published volumes after volumes of insight on potions and souls and being. Everything you set your sight on, and those were no mere trifles, you accomplished. I couldn't fathom why at the height of your victory, when you should be celebrating, you were weeping in a lonely tower instead."

Hermione shifted her left hand, idly feeling the smooth emerald of her ring. The Baron didn't say a word, though he did watch her carefully. "You could've blackmailed me with this, Edmund. I'm sure I would've paid handsomely."

He laughed again, but shook his head. "I couldn't do that to you, Professor. Besides, all I cared about at the moment was getting out of the tower while I could. Everything was starting to shake. There was a real danger that you might blow up the room."

"So that's how I woke up in the midst of a smouldering mess the next morning," Hermione muttered. "Goodness, I almost thought we were under attack."

"I left at the right time, then," Edmund gulped slightly, before gliding over to one of the arches. "I still have no idea what the cause of your sorrow was, Salazar. Only you could know. I just wanted to remind you not to do the same thing again." The moonlight glistened over his pale form. "I do understand now why you would make for the highest tower, though. There's a certain melancholy to it. It's as high as one can reach, yet it's so very lonely up here…"

No one spoke for a while. "Thank you for the insight, Edmund," Hermione whispered.

"Best of luck, Salazar."

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: This is Sally's version of the mirror scene :D<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

The beginning of the holidays was marked by the line of students filing out of the school, and Hermione watched from the snow-covered window sills as they waited to board the thestral-drawn carriages. Before the Hogwarts Express, these carriages used to travel all over the country to pick up students - young children didn't seem to enjoy apparition, after all. Salazar had suggested the use of thestrals partly because he knew them to be gentle creatures, and partly because he hoped to see that over time, more and more students would see autonomous carriages rather than giant winged horses. He also wanted to continue studying the property of their tail hair as he'd done during his time with Antioch Peverell. His mentor had sought to release the full power of the thestral tail hair, binding it to the violent elder wood to create the most formidable wand ever known. Salazar had also used thestral tail hair as his wand core but, as he believed that great power must be matched with equivalent control, tempered it with the calmer and more loyal acacia.

Antioch had laughed at his use of "a lesser wood" then. Salazar had replied by saying that the apprentice could never surpass the master, and this had made Master Peverell noticeably less reserved about teaching him, but he wouldn't have traded his wand for anything else. This wand eventually went on to serve him better than he could possibly hope, throughout the construction and establishment of Hogwarts and onwards.

Life was remarkably peaceful in the days leading up to Christmas. As Harry and Ron toasted various pieces of food over the common room fire while charting ridiculous plans to get Draco Malfoy expelled, Hermione wondered if she could've gone home after all. The boys didn't seem inclined to ruin their holidays by worrying about Flamel, and Quirrell didn't do anything other than his regular nightly departure from the castle, most likely to report to Voldemort. He hadn't been using any of the secret passages to Hogsmead, but among the other entrances he seemed to have no preference. She considered placing a tracing charm on him, but without knowing where his general destination was, she would have to anchor it on his person. Those type of spells might be discovered. Granted, suspicion would fall to Dumbledore first - that is, if the headmaster hadn't already attempted something similar.

Hermione didn't take the chance, as she would be unlikely to benefit from knowledge of Voldemort's location in any case. She did keep a closer watch on Quirrell when he was within the castle, however. She'd dedicated an hour to producing a map similar to Fred and George's, and had spelt it to heat up whenever someone enters the chamber with the three-headed dog or if Quirrell went somewhere he shouldn't. So far, no one had made a move, and Dumbledore and Snape appeared to be on alert. The stone was still safe.

On Christmas morning, Hermione woke to the sight of a small pile of presents and a grinning house-elf. Thanking him, she smiled and began to unwrap her parcels. The first was a large science textbook and a loving letter from her parents. Hermione grinned. Dad knew exactly what she'd wanted.

The next package was from Neville, and contained a handsome eagle-feather quill and a inkwell. She found it very thoughtful of him, as she could never have enough of these. She hoped Neville would enjoy the herbology book she'd bought him. She'd read through it first, and it should be just at second-year level.

The next parcel was from Blaise. It also contained a book - _Greatest and Noblest Families Throughout the Times_. _'Dear Sal, enjoy Yule at school. I don't know many people who stay, but since it's Hogwarts, I'm sure it'll be grand... I hope you find my present helpful. I remember you were looking for something like it, and this author is about the most accurate and objective one I know.'_ Hermione agreed. This book should be very useful, and perhaps even more than Blaise realized. She made a mental note to continue tracing the Potter line, sometime during the day.

Her own present to Blaise was an elegant, ornate cloak pin. Not a typical gift for a child, but she anticipated that he would find use for it some day. '_For when you make your name, Blaise.'_

The last two packages contained sweets - chocolate frogs and chocolate cauldrons from Ron and Harry. She'd never tried them before, as they were recent inventions, but she'd heard they were very good. Biting into one of the chocolate frogs, Hermione discovered a little picture of Godric, albeit a rather poor quality one. It couldn't think or speak, and had a limited range of motion. Not at all like the portraits at Hogwarts, but amusing all the same.

_'Thanks, Ron, Harry,'_ Hermione chuckled, stowing away her presents. She'd bought them snacks as well. It looked like she'd made the right choice.

Christmas feast was as magnificent as she remembered. The boys, each wearing a "Weasley sweater", had great fun pulling the great abundance of crackers and digging through the roast turkeys. At the High Table, most of the professors were enjoying themselves as well. Hagrid called for more wine, getting redder and redder in the face, and eventually kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek. Harry and Ron looked amazed to see the usually stern witch blush and giggle, she noticed. But then again, given what Baron Edmund said about Rowena, it shouldn't be too surprising.

Professor Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard hat for a flowered bonnet, and was laughing merrily at Professor Sprout's joke. Not many would've noticed that he was resolutely filling his goblet with pumpkin juice, as was Professor Snape (though _he_ looked gloomy as usual). Quirrell reached for the wine, but then seemed to decide against it. Curious...

In the afternoon, while the boys went outside to sling wet snow at each other, Hermione ducked back to the Room of Requirement with her new book to look for the origin of Harry's parseltongue ability. "I'm becoming more convinced that Harry didn't get this from his parents," she told Portrait Salazar, "Not one of the Potters were parselmouths, otherwise it would certainly be noted, and it's highly unlikely that it just popped out of nowhere."

He steepled his fingers. "An acquired ability? But how? Parselmouths, like metamorphmagus, are generally born and not learned, and for young Harry it seemed to come naturally."

Hermione nodded, idly examining one of the roses in the vase. This caused her portrait self to laugh. "Is that how I look when I do that?"

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?"

"Not really," he waved dismissively, "Though I can see now why Godric... No, never mind. It doesn't make him any less ridiculous. How is Yule this year, by the way?"

"Excellent, though there are so few students that I wonder if the elves would be able to finish all those turkeys. It seems that Quirrell - or Voldemort - realized that drinking is a bad idea during his current, er, quest."

"That would be sensible, yes."

"Quirrell very nearly forgot," Hermione smirked, "though it's rather strange how his hand shot back as if the bottle stung him. It almost feels like Voldemort's been watching over his shoulder, making sure he did everything right..."

Grey and amber eyes widened as a thought occurred to both of them. "A spying mechanism inside Quirrell's turban?"

"Likely, though it would need to see as well as hear, right? Or better yet, know what Quirrell is thinking."

"Essentially the equivalent of carrying Voldemort on the back of his head, then?"

"For our purposes, yes," Hermione mused. "Well then... will we be able to use this at all?"

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore peered over his goblet of pumpkin juice at the small group of children, gathered at one end of Gryffindor table. Several of the younger ones, Harry included, looked quite amazed at the bonnet he was currently sporting. The older ones seemed to have gotten used to the idea that he was "mad, but brilliant", as Percy Weasley had apparently put it.<p>

In his younger days, a few perceptive people had been able to see through his whimsical act, but now they simply accepted it as a part of his identity. Even Minerva. And Severus... Albus suspected that Severus at least saw the act as an act, though even the shewd potion master didn't guess at what he'd hidden underneath.

But Albus really must refrain from thinking about _that_. It would accomplish nothing, and it would give him nothing but grief.

Young Harry was glancing at him again. Albus returned the boy with a smile while mentally sighing. He didn't like the idea of a young child going through so much hardship, especially potentially life-threatening challenges, but fate had marked the boy out for a dangerous destiny. The Dark Lord had already marked Harry as an equal. It was unavoidable.

Could he not seek out Voldemort first? It wouldn't take too long, and he could definitely keep Harry safe until then. But what next? He had a hunch that Tom Riddle would not die at his hands, just as he hadn't really died on Halloween in Godric's Hollow. The best Albus could do for Harry was to provide support, spread the risk and smoothen the steadily escalating path to the final challenge. He must ensure that when the time comes, the boy would be equipped with all the skills, knowledge and emotional preparation he needed.

Thus, he'd allowed Quirrell to teach at Hogwarts despite knowing that he'd travelled to Albania, suspiciously close to Voldemort's last known hideout. It was better for Harry to face a relatively weak servant first, than to be unprepared for the master. In addition, himself and Severus would always be on hand to step in before Harry becomes permanently maimed.

So far, the boy was doing nicely. He had a strong need to protect and a healthy amount of curiosity. Intelligent, too, having already connected the Gringotts package to the third floor corridor to his friend Nicolas. It was also very fortunate that Harry made some very good friends - As Albus had learned the hard way, who your friends are could greatly influence the kind of person you become. Ron Weasley was a bit rash, a bit insensitive, and more likely to listen to his heart than his brain. Nevertheless, the boy had a very strong sense of moral, and that was unfortunately more than Albus could say for some. Hermione Granger, or Sally Granger as the children knew her, was a good student, impressively well-read, who'd on multiple occasions held the boys back from trouble. Between the three of them, there would be no shortage of sense.

Albus had returned Ignotus Peverell's cloak to its rightful owner this morning. Harry seemed to have thought a bit about it already. It was nearly certain that the boy would want to try it on, tonight.

Perhaps it was time to set up the mirror.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: Albus is a decent person. He does what he think is best, but he places too much emphasis on the prophesy. Thus, he thinks the only way forward is for Harry to defeat the dark lord, which is why he's always trying to introduce Harry to the lesser dangers while he still had time.<strong>

**On the other hand, Hermione believes that the whole confrontation between Harry and Voldemort is avoidable, which is why she will continue to try to stall him.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Harry, I don't think you should go back to that mirror tonight... It might be dangerous."

"You sound like Sally! Oh, that reminds me... Don't tell her, alright?"

This was the conversation Hermione walked in on when she arrived at the Gryffindor table. They both clamped their mouths shut the moment they saw her.

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided to keep Harry's secret.

"O-kay," Hermione turned away dubiously and started on her breakfast. She would keep an eye on them today. Better spend the night in the common room as well. The last time she'd heard the words "Don't tell Sally" and turned a blind eye, a good portion of the castle's roof had been destroyed by three rampaging griffins that their namesake had so proudly lured into school grounds. Besides, if even Ron felt the need for caution, then surely it cannot be taken lightly.

In her musing, Hermione was vaguely aware of two red-headed twins approaching the table with exceptionally wide grins on their face. She had to admit, even after teaching the House of the Cunning for twenty six years and seeing nearly all kinds of smirks imaginable, theirs were a little unnerving. What were these two up to now?

* * *

><p>Fred and George Weasley didn't know what to make of the little first-year girl named Sally Granger.<p>

Their first impression of her was that she was a Goody-two-shoes just like Percy the Prefect, who would grow up to be a boring officious killjoy just like Percy the Prefect. After all, who else would spend a good half of the Welcoming Feast listening to Percy drone on about rules, instead of devoting their full attention to more deserving things, such as the food or the Ghosts or even the floating chandeliers?

They had been so surprised when, as they were huddled in the dark in preparation for their first prank of the year, they realized that little Miss Granger was not in her dormitory as she was supposed to be. They hadn't gone to see what she was doing on the second floor at midnight - they had a prank to pull off after all - but they did see little Sally in a different light from then on.

It was clever of her to act all nice and obedient, they'd decided. She could probably even stroll down the hall with an armful of dungbombs, and the teachers would simply praise her for disposing of them.

And then one day, when they glanced at the Map, they'd seen her name beside "Blaise Zabini", "Theodore Nott", and "Daphne Greengrass". They'd thought the Slytherins might be bullying her at first but, when the names stayed that way for the whole morning, realized that they might actually be getting along.

Sally Granger was hardly the first Gryffindor to talk to Slytherins. Pavarti Patil and Daphne Greengrass hang out regularly, after all. But they'd known each other from before, while Sally was a muggleborn. How she'd managed to make friends with a bunch of blood-purists was beyond Fred and George's comprehension.

Or perhaps they had it wrong all along?

'Salazar Slytherin never hated muggleborns…'

They grinned. Taking identical strides, they marched over to the Gryffindor table. Nudging their little brother aside, they each took a seat. The person they'd sandwiched between them, one Sally Granger, looked up from her toast, eyebrows raised in question.

"So," they both scooted over, forcing Sally to shuffle down the table away from prying ears with them.

"Sally," said Fred,

"Miss Granger," said George,

"We have a proposition for you."

They'd never recruited a first year in their pranks before, but this particular plan called for a face that people should be relatively unfamiliar with. And little Sally was the best girl for the job because she knew the castle almost as well as they did, because she could probably perform the spell they'd need her to do, and because they could always threaten to tell Percy that they'd seen her sneaking out at night if she tattled. It also didn't hurt that she knew a thing or two about their target, and would be smart enough to contribute a few ideas.

"You see, it concerns a small -"_ 'Ha! Small!'_ "- Christmas surprise we've been planning for the Slytherins…"

* * *

><p>Hermione wouldn't dare say this to Godric, but she could somewhat appreciate the ambience of the Gryffindor common room.<p>

The Slytherin common room, with its steady green fire and tall underwater windows, had been designed to calm and inspire. It was a place for students to cool their heads, gather their thoughts and make their plans. Its high, arched stone ceiling was grand and unrestricting. Its furnishing was of the same style as the Slytherin castle, as well as Salazar's office and chamber: elegant, but simple and functional. It was well-lit, reasonably open and offered as much comfort as could be afforded. Yet, when Godric and Helga had came down to see it at its completion, they'd complained that it was too cold.

Now, looking about her, Hermione could see that they had a point. The Gryffindor common room was cluttered, amorphous, and featured an excessive amount of red fabric. Not to mention that its leaping golden fire was a little too much for her. Nevertheless, it had a cozy warmth that felt so welcoming, like an embrace. Most people could stay here forever and never wish to leave.

Currently, they were all holed up in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the last days of the holidays. Harry turned down Ron's multiple requests for a game of chess, until Ron eventually gave up and asked Hermione to play instead. Harry hadn't spoken much since breakfast, she thought as she checkmated Ron's king for the second time, much to the red head's dismay. It was almost as if he was just waiting for curfew. What kind of mirror would have such a strong attraction?

"How are you so good at this?" Ron asked, amazed.

"You're very good at chess yourself," Hermione assured him. He really was. "But I doubt that many people would be able to win against the friend I used to practice with." Perhaps surprisingly for some, Rowena was not very good at chess and didn't care much for games in general. But Helga - she was the true master. She always patiently scanned the board before making a move, uncovering all traps and leaving very little exploitable weaknesses. Even Salazar counted more losses against her than victories.

After playing five more games, and making sure that she lost at least two, Hermione picked up a book while the boys went off to bed. Harry left as well, though she knew he was going to return. Disillusioning herself, she waited. Her thoughts turned back to what the Weasley twins' had disclosed to her in the morning. She could see how they earned their reputation. This "welcome back to school prank", as they called it, had what seemed to be their usual style: loud, dramatic, with no small amount of flamboyance. With just the tiniest bit of modification, it would be perfect.

Impatient footsteps drifted down from the stairs to the boys dormitories, but no one appeared. Yet something _had_ passed in front of her, did it not? Hermione waited until the entity was safely out of the portrait hole before taking out her map and removing the disillusionment. Harry Potter was now outside.

As she followed Harry through the halls, Hermione wondered how he'd achieved complete, perfect invisibility. Or perhaps the darkness was diminishing her eyesight? The disillusionment charm is fifth-year level, she recalled. It wasn't difficult to learn - the difficulty lay in casting without any wavering, or outlines. Even she and Master Ignotus couldn't always accomplish such a level of perfection.

But Ignotus had been working to make the charm permanent, hadn't he? He'd been testing it on a specially-made cloak. Perhaps Harry had acquired something like it?

Despite Harry's invisibility, the boy was surprisingly easy to follow even without the aid of her map. His footsteps were uncontrolled and hurried, and frankly much louder than they should be. Hermione struggled to keep up with quick but silent strides, until they came to a stop in front of a large, ancient-looking mirror. She watched as Harry whisked off his invisibility cloak and sank to the floor in front of it, gazing into it dreamily. She also noticed a very slight flickering in the corner. _'Well. This is interesting indeed,'_

There was a Latin inscription around the mirror's frame. '_I show only your heart's desire.' _A mirror that showed whatever you wanted most desperately... As she'd expected, Professor Dumbledore revealed himself in the corner, to the boy's surprise. He patiently explained how the mirror worked, warned Harry not to look for it again, and informed him that the mirror would be moved to a new home tonight.

This would be the real protection for the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione realized. One would think it's sitting behind all those layers of traps, but really the bait didn't have to be on the hook all the time to be effective. The use of the mirror here would be quite clever, since it could prevent people from taking the stone for any reason except to protect it. This knowledge brought her a small amount of relief. '_Very good, Headmaster. Now you'll just have to watch and make sure everything does go as expected, won't you?'_

Harry was turning to leave, but curiosity seemed to make him pause. "Sir, what do you see when you look into the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolly socks."

A typical, Dumbledore-style lie. From what she knew of their current headmaster, this would be one of the secrets he'd take to the grave. To be safe, Hermione stayed in place and waited until Professor Dumbledore left the room before turning toward the door herself. Her eye caught on the mirror just before she reached the handle.

She was rather curious as well. Should she?

No, she decided. It would be better if she didn't look.

It was harder to mourn what you'd never seen, after all.


	19. Chapter 19

"Mortal dread."

Fred exchanged a look with George. They, and little Sally, were currently hiding in the passage that lead from the dungeon to the entrance hall. The portrait that guarded this entrance was a witty fellow with a decent sense of humour, at least as much as one could hope for in a potion master. They could trust him not to give them away when an enraged Filch come by, demanding to know which direction they ran off in.

In fact, they used to prepare for nearly all their pranks here. That is, until one day the portrait nonchalantly "remembered" that since this was the Potion Master's Passageway, naturally it would be used quite frequently by Professor Snape.

"Remember what you need to do?" Fred asked, handing Sally a green and silver tie. He and George couldn't help but feel a little bit concerned for her. It was the first time they'd involved a firstie, after all. Much less sending a muggleborn firstie into Slytherin territories. However, Slytherins were notoriously suspicious of Gryffindors strolling in the lower dungeon levels. Hence, the need for an unfamiliar face and a disguise.

"Perfectly," Sally replied, taking off her own red and gold tie and pocketing it. She then tied her hair back and smoothed it as much as she could. "How do I look?"

Scanning her over, Fred doubted that anyone would see her as an infiltrator. Although, it was unlikely that she would encounter anyone, since all the students would be having dinner in the Great Hall at the time.

Now, standing with her chin lifted jauntily and a slight smirk over her lips, Sally certainly looked the part. And with her hair sleeked back into a subtle sort of wave, she very much reminded him of Malfoy. "You still look too nice, but otherwise excellent. I don't suppose we can make you look pug-faced like Pansy Parkinson, can we? A few well-placed stinging hexes would do it."

"Not unless you want to play Crabbe and Goyle. A few dozen stinging hexes each should do it. We'll have to burn your hair too, but at least the height won't be a problem."

Yup, the attitude was there too. No need to worry about her.

George checked his watch. Five minutes till dinner. "C'mon, let's go. Good luck, Sally,"

Fred could hardly contain his grin as he walked up the stairs to the Great Hall. He could tell this was going to be brilliant. Once there, he and George sat down next to Lee and started on their dinner like everyone else. They pretended to be perfectly oblivious to the underside of the benches, where a hundred or so of _something_ that they'd charmed over the past few days were waiting to activate upon the command -

They traded a look. Together, they discreetly waved their wand under the table. "Locomotor!"

Suddenly, the room was filled with multi-coloured, animated toy snakes. Quickly growing to around a meter in length, they hissed and slithered around ankles, startling all four houses alike. Fred and George took great pleasure in seeing Marcus Flint fall backward out of his seat in surprise, before a neon pink snake so kindly nudged him back into place. Malfoy seemed to have spilt his pumpkin juice on himself. Ron shrieked like a girl when a black snake coiled itself rather realistically around his leg. "Salazar..." he cursed.

"'Salazar' is right, dear brother," George nodded at the door, where a large banner had unfurled itself. '_In memory of the Snake Lord,' _it said. Fred grinned. He was quite proud of his handiwork.

Ron glared at them. "Please," he grumbled, "Slytherin doesn't need you two helping him. He's done enough damage already just by leaving us stuck with his bloody house."

Beside Ron, Harry was equally surprised, though he was also smirking. "Sorry," he'd laughed when the other first years looked at him weirdly, "this reminded me of that time at the zoo with my cousin." Fred wished he'd shared the whole account of the incident, as it seemed to be very funny, but Harry had stopped talking in favour of eating more chicken.

Up at the staff table, the professors were glancing around them with disapproval. Nevertheless, as Sally had correctly predicted, Snape's hilariously outraged expression made them strangely reluctant to help. Even Professor McGonagall simply sat back and watched her greasy-haired colleague fire spells left and right in an attempt to get rid of the rainbow-hued disasters. He wasn't having much luck. The snakes were very fast.

Fred grinned. This little - Ha! Little! - dinner entertainment served several purpose. Firstly, it was hilarious, and brilliant even as a stand-alone prank. Secondly, it ensured that Snape would be kept busy in the Great Hall for some time. This meant that he would be unable to discover and remove the little - Ha! Little! - _thing_ that should now be in place in front of the Slytherin common room until much, much later. "Well, that turned out very nicely, didn't it dear brother?"

"If it's good enough to lure a potion master out of his lair, then it'll be good enough to keep a potion master out of his lair," pointed George, who was busy directing a neon green snake to dance in a loop. Fred looked across the hall in the direction he indicated. In the paintings, among the figures huddled to watch the spectacle, was their favourite potion master. They knew he would sometime leave his painting, though they'd never actually seen him elsewhere in the castle. Sir Cadogan seemed to be attempting to use this opportunity to provoke him into a duel. Fred doubted that he would agree to it. He didn't look like the brawny or violent type. Could paintings even duel?

In the commotion, Fred noticed Sally silently slide into the seat beside his. "Where did you go?" Harry asked.

Sally shrugged, wearing her typical innocent expression. "I went back to the common room to drop off my books. Er...What's going on here?" Under the table, Fred felt something being placed into his hand. The green and silver tie.

He hoped the Slytherins would enjoy their present.

* * *

><p>The entity on the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head watched through Quirrell's eyes as the crude idea of a joke unfolded before them. How dared they use the name of his ancestor for something as frivolous as this! When he obtains his own body, which would be soon enough, he would find out who was responsible and decimate them.<p>

His plans were going well enough. The unicorn blood he'd made Quirrell drink every night was keeping him sufficiently strong. And once he could determine what exactly Dumbledore had in place to protect the stone (for surely those childish games and the beast couldn't be all) and keep Dumbledore busy at the right time... Oh, he'd love to see the horror on their faces when he reveals himself, as powerful as ever. They'd thought him dead for ten years, hadn't they?

"Look forward to hell."

Had someone said something? He made Quirrell glance around the hall, inspecting the oblivious faces. No, it didn't look like it. The room was simply too loud, and too noisy. Or perhaps it was he who'd accidentally stated his thoughts out loud?

He sneered coldly from within the purple fabric. Soon enough, he would not have to put up with this nonsense. Soon enough.

* * *

><p>The Slytherin common room was concealed behind a stone wall at the end of a corridor in the depth of the dungeons. To enter, one would say the password - usually a word or phrase that changed logically every night - and the door would reveal itself. Alternatively, according to some unreliable tales, one could use the Parseltongue password that never changed.<p>

But it seemed that no one would be entering the Slytherin common room now, or for the next few hours, for that matter. Because the entirety of the entrance was simply and effectively blocked by a giant book.

"Who's responsible for this?" Blaise heard a seventh-year growl. Someone cast a "Reducio!" at it, to no avail. The book refused to shrink.

Personally, Blaise had no doubt that this was the work of the Weasleys, as was the fiasco in the Great Hall earlier. '_In memory of the Snake Lord'_, was it? Blaise sighed. He should've suspected that they weren't finished. And he had been so looking forward to going to bed early...

"Incendo!" A tongue of fire shot out dramatically from the tip of someone's wand. The third year girl who cast it looked smug at her clever idea, though her smirk faded when anticlimactically, the book remained unharmed.

The next hour passed quickly, during which the upper years tried unsuccessfully to cut, burn, shrink, transfigure or vanish the book using all the spells they knew. Several students were sent up to get Professor Snape, though each time they returned alone because "at least the book isn't trying to run away like the abominations in the Great Hall". The younger students like Blaise, who didn't know enough magic to be helpful in the endeavour to gain entry to their own sleeping quarters, were gradually nudged to the back of the group. Blaise tried to stand on tip-toes to see what they were trying, but there were too many heads in front of him. All he could see was the top half of the book. _'Please remember that as individuals, muggles are inherently not very different from you or I. Their brains are perfectly capable of complex thoughts, should they take the trouble to learn...' _

Trust the Weasleys to put something about muggles in front of the Slytherin common room. The author's opinion was an interesting one, though. He advocated against the mistreatment of muggles, though the way he said was very different from the over-enthusiastic muggle worshipping of the Weasleys. His tone was diplomatic, with a slight but noticeably cool and cynical character. It wasn't exactly clear which side he was on.

Blaise noticed that most of his housemates were starting to pay attention to the contents of the giant obstacle as well, if only out of sheer boredom. He found himself wondering what the rest of the book was like. Perhaps he would read it sometimes. If it could survive until the end of the evening, of course.

"Whoever did this," noted Theodore from his right, "must've done some pretty impressive spellwork. You'd need powerful shields to withstand their assault for so long. A good portion of those spells they're shooting at it are not exactly legal, I might add."

"True, those last three were dark. I expect I can trust you not to tell anyone, since you're a Slytherin and a Nott," admitted a fourth-year, Jennifer Meadows. She, like most others, had given up and decided to wait for Snape. "It's weird that even those aren't working, though. Can nothing damage this book?"

"Looks like it," a fellow fourth-year said, turning the giant pages. Unsurprisingly, it didn't rip. "I don't think a student cast these protective charms though... If anyone here had that sort of power we would've heard about it. I think it's the author's work. Maybe he wasn't very popular? He _did _argue that we should welcome mudbloods into our society."

By now, everyone had sat down along the sides of the corridor in resignation, giving Blaise an unobscured view of the giant yellowed pages, of something that made him yelp in surprise. Theodore noticed it too, though his reaction was less dramatic.

"What?" Jennifer frowned.

"I think it's the other way around," Blaise laughed weakly and pointed at the seal impression and signature on the last page. Muttering broke out all around, because there was no mistaking who the those belonged to. Was this what "In memory of the Snake Lord" was referring to?

"Salazar Slytherin," Theodore murmured, "Funny. Who would've thought that he, of all people..."

"This has to be a trick!" Marcus Flint shouted, outraged. He sent another jet of flame at the book, which lazily absorbed it. Jennifer grabbed his arm before he could raise his wand again. "Don't even think of using Fiendfyre. You can't control it, and you'll get all of us killed."

"I wasn't going to," Flint sneered, "I'm not going to die for a damn book."

"Well, that _is _the Slytherin family crest," Theodore pointed out, "see how the one at school is a simplified version of it. I can't speak to the signature, but I'm sure that'll be easy enough to verify."

"It must be a forgery!"

"Have you any idea how difficult magical forgery is? Especially something like this?"

"Then - then someone must've altered the words somehow..."

"I think Slytherin would've thought of that," Blaise reminded him, "he'd remembered to fire-proof the book. Why not protect it against vandals as well?"

"I can't believe this," Marcus muttered.

Grabbing the corner of the giant pages, Blaise arduously opened the book to the first page. _'The Muggle-Magic Relationship: Current Status and How to Proceed'. _"But we've only read a couple paragraphs... Let's take a look at what point he's actually trying to make, shall we?"

The rest of the book sounded more like what one would expect from Slytherin, according to the history books. He didn't approve of torturing muggles as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had done, though, instead arguing that it would be better for both societies if wizards left the muggles alone and had nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, he clearly disliked muggles, and frequently made insults to the their ignorance and the stupidity of their actions in his every-so-refined manner. This made things much easier to swallow.

But Blaise couldn't help but noticing that the reasons he gave for his "ill opinion of muggles" were all based on circumstances in the Middle Ages, when muggles were illiterate and uneducated, and witchburnings were rampant. He wondered what Slytherin would say if he saw muggles today. Would he still find them inferior? Or might he even praise them for their ability to cope so well without magic?

Eventually, a tired-looking Professor Snape came down and helped them remove the book. It was simple, really. A basic sticking charm had been applied to the back of the book and the wall. When they tried to shrink the book, the wall stretched the book to maintain its size, while the book's original protective charms maintained its integrity. All they had to do was unstick the book, and then easily shrink it to normal size. Any second-year could've done it.

"Finally!" Malfoy complained before heading up to the boys' dormitory, "My father will hear about this..." But no one was paying him any attention. The book was far more interesting. Should Blaise tell Sal about it? His first impulse was "yes", but on second thought, it might be tactless. Besides, whatever happens in Slytherin stays among Slytherins. People had broken this rule in the past, and the whole house had suffered for it. Some almost thought of it as their own Statue of Secrecy.

The potion master looked thoughtful when they told him about what was written in this book, and who it was written by. Blaise thought he looked almost mournful, but perhaps he'd imagined it. Snape was always wearing a sour expression.

Blaise quietly headed for the boys' dormitory as well, intending to get there before his housemates inevitably swarm the stairwell. Yes, a good night's sleep would be very welcomed.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in the Room of Requirements, Sally leaned back into the green velvet of the chaise lounge. On the map spread over her knees, she watched the large cluster of names in front of the Slytherin common room slowly dissipate. The Weasley twins were probably doing the same thing this instant, she imagined. "About Quirrell, did he...?"<p>

"He understood," her portrait self confirmed. "Or rather, Voldemort did."

"Which means he is most likely who we think he is," Fred and George had charmed all the toy snakes to hiss loudly. However, unbeknownst to the pranksters themselves, one of the snakes had been "modified" to deliver a particular message in Parseltongue. She'd wondered if it would reach its intended audience. "Look forward to hell... Well, I did promise Esmeralda."

_'Tom Marvolo Riddle... So this is what you've become. You've done quite a bit of damage, haven't you? Not to mention that your abuse of power's disgraced the Slytherin name, butchered whatever's left of the reputation of dark wizards, and nearly exposed us to the muggles. You're talented, but power seized this way never lasts. It's a pity that you couldn't see it. __And I shudder to think of the state of your soul now, after destroying so many lives...'_


End file.
